


Other Vengeance chapter five: Someone I Forgot

by WaywardInsecticon



Series: Other Vengeance [8]
Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Faction Truce, Gen, Transformers as Humans, so much Shakespeare, we handed out sexes by beast-mode in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 03:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15185876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardInsecticon/pseuds/WaywardInsecticon
Summary: Eleven days after the change. It finally stops raining. Inferno makes two big ( unrelated ) discoveries, Megatron and Blackarachnia go digging around a Vok site, and Airazor and Cheetor try to find everyone's luggage.





	1. Chapter 1

_He returned to the base and found it quiet._

_It was never completely silent - there was always the underlying hum of machinery, the hiss of the vents, the throb of the generators. Those were still there. But there was no chatter, no footsteps, no signs of life. They were a boisterous group - there_ should _be sounds of people._

_Knowing what would come next but unable to stop himself, he passed through the entry chamber into the building proper._

_What he found was not the aftermath of a battle; it was the aftermath of a slaughter. Not one body was left intact; all were torn apart, many missing pieces that would never be found. But despite the torn bodies, strewn about the floor, thrown over furniture, a few even crushed into the walls, despite the chaos of heads and limbs and torsos, it did not feel random. There was purpose here, a message written in the twist of bodies, the blood, the expressions of fear on the victims' faces._

_He knew the victims, knew them all, but he could not remember their names._

_He wanted to search for survivors, his nature demanded it, but protocol was stronger, and protocol was that he was to signal for help first so there would at least be a record. He knew searching would come to nothing anyway. He had been here before. There were never survivors._

_He flew to the communications centre, fumbled with the controls. They were damaged but not so much that he could not send a signal. He activated the system, hoping that someone would be close enough to hear. "They are dead. They are all dead ..."_

 

**Other Vengeance 2.0  
Someone I Forgot  
( part one )**  
 

She was tired, she was hungry, and she hoped no one would notice her. Blackarachnia taunted Scorponok often enough about how he got so involved in his work that he forgot about everything else that it wouldn't do to be caught at it herself. It was midnight; she should have begun her recharge a megacycle ago but she'd lost track of time in the materials lab, working on a new grapple-gun light enough for her to carry in this form. It might have been avoidance - Blackarachnia didn't like to sleep. She stepped off the small lift that connected the main deck and the quarters section ...

"Blackarachnia!"

Because she was tired and because she was thinking of Scorponok it took Blackarachnia a second to realise it was someone else entirely. "Silverbolt?"

He stumbled out of a side corridor, trying to run but his feet not quite obeying his commands. Blackarachnia thought he was going to touch her and took a step back, but he stopped a few steps away and hunched his feathered cloak around his shoulders. Barefoot and missing his tabard, his long black hair tangled - she'd never seen him looking such a mess, not even those few times she'd caught a glimpse of him while he was malfunctioning. He had a hunted look to him - Silverbolt couldn't focus on her, his gaze flicking around the corridor like he expected an attack. "Nothing has ... happened? Everything is all right?"

"As much as it can be," said Blackarachnia, shrugging, too tired to get into how nothing would be 'all right' until they were metal again. "What's got you so worked up, Maximal?"

Silverbolt relaxed, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders sag. "I have been foolish. I knew better yet still allowed my fears to command me."

She didn't want to get into a conversation but it was always useful to know what the enemy was afraid of. "Knew better than what?"

"I knew it was only a nightmare but felt compelled to make certain it was not real." He shook his head, trying to clear it, then opened his eyes. "It was seeing my comrades hurt by the explosion. It must be ... Only that happened four days ago so why do I dream of it now? And the dream was not like that. There were too many bodies and it was not an accident ... There was not so much blood ... There were burns on the walls but not on the bodies ..."

_Or not so useful._ "You're babbling."

Silverbolt stopped immediately. "My apologies."

Blackarachnia waved the apology away. "Forget it. At least you don't scream yourself awake." She rubbed at her eyes. "Ugh, why am I even going to bed? I think everyone's been having nightmares since the change."

"Yourself as well?" He didn't believe there had been a change but he was too polite to argue.

"Yeah, and it's always the same one. I'm walking down a corridor. It's not my choice - there're two ... none of your business, Maximal," she snapped, remembering herself.

Silverbolt took a step back and gave a short bow. "Then I will trouble you no further. Thank you for your reassurances, Blackarachnia. Good night."

She watched him start back towards the side corridor. _I'm walking down a corridor. It's not my choice - there are two guards behind me, marching me along. I can hear their feet clanking ..._ "Silverbolt, wait," she started. "Who was killed in your dream? All of us? Just your Maximal friends?"

Silverbolt turned, blinking in surprise, and drew his cloak tightly around himself. "No. No one from here. I did not know their names." Then, almost to himself, "I _should_ know their names ..."

"What did they look like?" Blackarachnia asked, approaching him. "Were they flesh like us?"

"They were ..." Silverbolt frowned, brow furrowing in concentration. After a moment he gave up. "People."

Maybe a different angle would yield a straight answer. "What colour was the blood?"

"Red, of course ..." Again the frown. "No. I do not remember."

"Was it the _Axalon_?"

"No." This time, Silverbolt sounded certain. "It was a building, not a ship."

As far as Silverbolt was concerned, he'd existed for a grand total of eleven days - the _Axalon_ was the only structure he'd ever known, and its crew and the Predacons were the only people. On the other hand it wasn't as if Silverbolt didn't know what a building was, the rest of them talked about being robots enough, he had to have seen Crossbolt's shell, and there had been a lot of blood in the cargo bay - he did have enough pieces that his mind could have woven them into a nightmare. But he had said something else, something he sounded too certain of ... "'There were burns on the walls but not on the bodies. It wasn't an accident'," Blackarachnia said. "So what happened?"

"It was ... it was a ..." The Maximal's face twisted in horror and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I cannot say!"

"You don't _want_ to say." Blackarachnia frowned. "Or do you mean you don't remember?"

"I _cannot say_ ," Silverbolt repeated. "I cannot ... No!" He shuddered, lowered his hands, and stepped away from her. "I am sorry. Thank you for your time."

The Maximal fled into the lift. Blackarachnia shook her head, annoyed at herself for feeling more affected by a Maximal's worries than she ought to. Tales of death didn't frighten her, but something about Silverbolt's insistent _I cannot say_ twitched at her mind like a fly caught in a web. She would think about it when she wasn't so tired.

 

* * *

 

He cursed his weakness and laid down padding but that was the only change - Dinobot still slept curled up on the floor. Lately his dreams had been filled with blood and shrapnel, which neither surprised nor worried him. He'd been through worse. He'd caused worse. _'Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death ...'_

_He was sitting in the xenobiology lab, shrapnel buried deep in the synthflesh of his arm and the metal of his leg. The wounds didn't hurt though they leaked thick organic blood. He couldn't move. This didn't worry him yet._

_Megatron was there, behind him, but Dinobot knew he was prepping his tools for surgery. He was speaking quietly, his deep voice soothing. Dinobot was dimly aware that Megatron had been talking for some time: "... cannot turn your back on us. You_ know _why there are Predacon outlaws. Perhaps this is simply a pattern for you, this rebellion. Perhaps you cannot help yourself. But you run from the one who gave you your freedom right into the hands of those who oppress us!"_

It is not that way! 'In thy foul throat thou lie'st!' _Dinobot tried to say the words but found himself unable to speak._

_Megatron stepped around in front of him, energon-pink optics dimmed in sympathy. "I gave you your soul when others had locked it away and this is how you repay me?" The smooth voice softened with regret. "I offered you so much. All you had to do was accept it."_

'To take is not to give.' _His body still refused to obey him, forcing him to listen without argument._ You didn't give me my life, only claimed it for yourself.

_Megatron reached down and lightly cupped Dinobot's chin, thumb running over his lower lip. "It's not too late, Dinobot. Renounce the Maximals. Come back to us. Come back to me."_

_The touch was wrong. Instead of the silvery scrape of metal on metal, it was smooth and soft and ..._

_... Real!_

Dinobot uncurled, kicking out with his feet and striking Megatron in the chest. Caught off-guard, Megatron, who had been crouched over him, fell back and landed heavily. He recovered his breath in seconds but by then the lights were on and the point of a sword was at his chest. Megatron sighed and settled back, making an obvious show of surrender. "Very well."

"Don't tempt me." _It would be easy. Very easy. Self-defence - even the Maximals would accept that. Except I would know it was a lie._ Megatron was helpless and hadn't actually attacked him. Dinobot took a step back and turned the sword away. "'Arise, dissembler'," he said, shaking off the last of the dream. "Why are you here?"

Megatron sat up, rubbing the back of his head where it had bounced off the floor. "I just wanted to talk. Is that so wrong?"

Dinobot cut to the point he considered the most important: " _You broke into my quarters while I was asleep!_ "

"And such a sound sleeper you are." The Predacon commander stood, theatrically dusting himself off. "Your hearing seems to be improving at least."

"No thanks to you." His audios seemed to be repairing themselves. "How long have you been here?"

"Oh, maybe half a megacycle," said Megatron offhandedly. "Nor is this the first time."

He said it so casually that Dinobot almost missed it. "Not the first time -?"

"Honestly, _finding_ you was more challenging than cracking the lock."

"Answer me," Dinobot growled. "How many times, Megatron?"

Megatron sighed as if he found the question insufferably tedious. "This would be number three. Did the Maximals bury you down here or was this a choice?"

"Choice." Dinobot found the _Axalon's_ Maximal-scaled quarters far too tight and so he had commandeered the small storage bay below the stasis hold months ago. He pointed the sword at Megatron again. "Say what you came to say and get out."

Megatron smiled, sardonic, triumphant. "I've already said it."

"You put the effort into finding me, broke into my quarters, and spent half a megacycle talking to me as I slept," said Dinobot, trying to make sense of it. He gave up. " _Why?_ "

Megatron stopped smiling. "I am perfectly within my rights to be here."

"Those debts are long paid."

"Fine. I _am_ a patient mechanism. You'll get over this silly Maximal phase and return to your senses eventually."

"I am not a Maximal," said Dinobot, "and I am not yours."

Megatron stalked out. Dinobot waited until he was certain his former commander had left before lying down again, this time with his sword in his hand instead of hung on the wall. He got up after a few minutes. He couldn't sleep, not with his quarters no longer secure. Dinobot considered his options and went up to the command centre. If nothing else, there would be a Maximal there.

He was surprised to find all of the Maximals there. Dinobot stood in the doorway, uncertain. "Was there a meeting I was not informed of?"

Quickstrike waved him over. "Nah, it's just the mornin' grub-'n-gab session."

"Oh. Yes." It was a ritual that had begun five days ago - in the quiet of the sixth shift, before the Predacons woke up, the Maximals refuelled together. It was a morning staff meeting, a chance to catch up with each other, and probably good for morale. They had offered to do it later so that Dinobot could participate but he had no interest in doing so. The Maximals were surprised he was there but they were welcoming.

"Hey, chopperface! Not used to seeing you this side of the sunrise! Or so much of you. Do those stripes go all the way down?"

Dinobot cursed inwardly. His encounter with Megatron had left him so distracted he hadn't thought to get dressed. He hadn't even noticed the rough chill of the deck plates until he was reminded he had no boots. To Dinobot, clothing was armour - flimsy armour, but all he had now. Stumbling in half-clothed, not even taking the time to pull on his shirt or boots or to tie his hair back, meant he was vulnerable. Not that there was any defence against a disgustingly cheerful Rattrap. "You needn't remind us that yours do," Dinobot said bitterly.

"I am following the Way of the Tiger," Rattrap intoned. Behind him, Tigatron snorted but didn't bother turning from where she stood working at the navigation station. Rattrap had taken to wearing nothing but boots and a hair clip for the last four days, not out of choice. He was still half gray from the protein polymer striped across his limbs and back. Clothing rubbed on his wounds. It rubbed on Dinobot's as well but he ignored the pain.

Something was wrong and it took Dinobot a moment to realise what it was. "Optimus is not here."

"He had the midnight shift," said Rhinox. "He's gone to bed." Dinobot cursed himself again: _I knew that. Optimus always takes the midnight shift, of course he would be asleep now. Why must it take so long for my processor to reboot?_

Most of the Maximals had finished eating and were just hanging around the central table and chatting. There weren't quite enough chairs - all were filled so Tigatron and Silverbolt had both opted to stand. Airazor got up so Dinobot could take her seat and he was too tired to argue that he didn't need it. "What're you doing up so early?" she asked.

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep." It was true enough. Dinobot found himself between Quickstrike and Cheetor, and inspected what was laid out on the table. Since he had come in late there wasn't much left; a few different kinds of fruit and a couple of gray-blue eggs. Nothing he was interested in - his body might have been omnivorous but he had carnivore preferences.

Rattrap leaned across the table to push an egg at him. "Try it. Tigatron found 'em down by the lake yesterday."

"I was trying to catch the bird itself," said Tigatron. "I thought the eggs might be an acceptable substitute. As well, the more variety in our fuel sources the better, if only so we know our options."

"I like 'em," said Rattrap, which was no real recommendation. The only things he wouldn't eat were rodents, out of loyalty to his beast-mode. Dinobot considered it oddly squeamish of him. "Careful, though - it'll shatter all over you if you just bite into it. We found it's easiest to punch a hole in the end, suck out the liquid, then crunch the shell. Liquid bird in a can."

The Maximals would fuss at him until he ate something. Dinobot picked up the egg and cracked the wider end of the shell with his fingernail. Inside the shell was a thick, yellow slime. "This isn't a bird."

"It would be once it hatched," Tigatron explained.

Dinobot gave the yellow slime a critical look. "Hnh. Bird protoform."

All of the Maximals made faces but Rattrap was the one who voiced it; "Aw, why'd you have to put it that way? Now it just seems gross.

 

* * *

 

Every day, Megatron reweighed the pros and cons of letting Inferno share his room. Pros: it was comforting to have that extra layer of security in the enemy base. She was tidy and didn't take up much space and it was sometimes useful to have someone there he could talk at while he sorted his thoughts. Inferno didn't seem to need as much recharge as he did and would leave quietly before he awoke to shower, refuel, then would return with fuel for him and any reports pulled from the Maximals. There was really only one con: she would be back before Megatron really wanted to be awake and he couldn't convince her that he needed further recharge. Trying to explain this just made her fuss and ask if he was injured or unwell. Sometimes he tried to sleep again after she left, but by then he was too awake.

Inferno had returned with fuel and reports and disappeared again, gone hunting. The Maximals had tried to install a rule that no one should go out alone in their weakened condition, but since Dinobot and Tigatron both ignored that rule, it wasn't enforced for the Predacons either.

Breakfast finished, Megatron set to work. The first order of business was to get other people to do that work for him. He activated the intercom, connecting to Rhinox's quarters. There was no guarantee the engineer was in but there was no harm checking there first. "Megatron to Rhinox."

The response wasn't immediate and Rhinox was certainly surprised but he was controlled enough that it didn't come through in his voice: _"You're up early, Megatron. What are you looking for?"_

"You, in fact," said Megatron. He cut the connection - if he didn't play with the Maximals once in a while they'd be more suspicious of him than they already were. Then he picked up the alien sphere that Inferno had found under the Standing Stones, took the short walk down the corridor to Rhinox's quarters, and pressed the door chime.

The door opened. Rhinox frowned up at him warily, blocking the door, arms folded. The change into organic forms had levelled the playing field in some ways - Megatron was still the largest but the gap was no longer as wide. He knew he shouldn't underestimate Rhinox, but the Maximal seemed diminished. It might have been nothing more than that Rhinox always been strong and now that meant less than it used to. "Yes?"

Megatron held up the sphere. "You're the botanist. The interior of the sphere reminds me of a plant. I thought you might have better luck with it than I."

Rhinox didn't move. "The only reason you're sharing your research is because you're stuck."

True enough, not that Megatron would phrase it so. "I told Primal that I would share."

No trap in the device - it was dead and Megatron had spent the last several days studying it himself. The Maximal hesitated before taking it anyway, less out of distrust for the sphere than for the one offering it. "I'll see what I can learn from it."

"You will tell me if you discover anything."

Rhinox looked at him levelly. "We've been sharing our research with you since this truce started."

The Predacon commander nodded, acknowledgement of the statement both as agreement and accusation, and left.

Megatron stopped at his quarters to pick up a previously-packed satchel - basically a box on a shoulder-strap - then continued to Blackarachnia's room. When knocking brought no response, he went down to the materials lab. Blackarachnia seemed to practically live there these days.

She looked up from her work. "What do _you_ want?"

"Time for a little expedition, yes."

Blackarachnia rolled her eyes but she got up, wiping her hands on her trousers. "Anything I need to pack?" He didn't state the destination and she didn't ask - there were times Megatron appreciated having a bright minion who caught on quickly. The Maximals didn't seem to be paying Blackarachnia much attention through the security cameras, but better not to test that.

"A scanner, certainly, and provisions. I expect we'll be out for a few hours at least, until nightfall at the latest. Meet me in the command centre."

Blackarachnia set about collecting a few tools from the lab. Megatron went to the command centre to wait for her. The only Maximal there was Cheetor, which suited him fine. If he had to deal with a Maximal it may as well be a hopelessly naive and dimwitted one. "I will be going out," Megatron announced. "I require a weapon."

Cheetor hesitated but Maximals were nothing if not helpful, other Predacons had been armed without uprising, and if Megatron wanted to attack he would come up with something more clever than 'please arm me'. "Where are you going?"

"Just out on a little field trip," said Megatron. "I don't need much, just something to give the wildlife second thoughts."

"Where to?" Cheetor prodded, pulling down the weapons rack with effort. _Though not before typing a code into the computer,_ Megatron noted. "Come on, I have to sign you out properly," the Maximal continued. "This is for your benefit, too. We don't want anyone getting lost."

"If you insist, the Standing Stones," Megatron lied, giving a destination within walking distance. "Blackarachnia will be joining me - ah," he finished, as the technician walked in. She also carried a supply container, though strapped to her back.

Cheetor handed him a gun - quite small but sufficient for his purposes. Megatron gave it an automatic check to make certain it was charged, then clipped it to his belt. "Come, Blackarachnia."

Once outside, the Predacons went over to the hoversled. Megatron withdrew two small components and a few tools from his satchel, handing a couple to Blackarachnia. "Work quickly. The cat may grow suspicious if he doesn't see us walking away, and call for help."

Blackarachnia knelt to open a panel in the hoversled. "Tarantulas told me you were trying to find out the extent of the amnesia in the pod-spawned Maximals," she said, slotting the part into place. "I think Silverbolt might not be completely wiped."

"Oh?" Megatron finished his own minor repair, stepped onto the hoversled, and activated it. It obediently rose half a metre into the air.

Blackarachnia swung up behind him and Megatron steered it towards the ravine. Let Cheetor yell for the other Maximals - the loader sled was the fastest vehicle they had. They would still be in range of the autoguns for longer than Megatron would have liked, but he was reasonably confidant the Maximals wouldn't shoot him down, not with a truce on.

They were across the ravine in seconds. _The ravine that by all rights the_ Axalon _should have fallen into a dozen times over,_ Megatron thought. _I suppose now it's a good thing we never managed that._

"He had a nightmare last night," said Blackarachnia, once the _Axalon_ was behind them, "bad enough that he had to get up and walk it off. I happened to be the first person he saw so he talked to me. He'd come back to the base - it wasn't the _Axalon_ \- and found everyone dead. He couldn't say the corpses were human." She paused, probably a shrug. "It's not much but I think he remembers metal, if only subconsciously."

Megatron nodded, steering to follow the trail of obvious destruction. The Flying Island had scraped across the plateau, ripping tears in the stronger rock formations and demolishing the weaker ones. "Spark memories resurfacing, perhaps. Are all his dreams like that?"

"No idea. I could ask him about it. He wouldn't suspect anything."

"Mm, yes, do that. The results may prove useful." After a moment, Megatron asked, "Are you having such dreams?"

"Who _wouldn't_ be having nightmares after this change?" Her tone attempted sarcasm but there was just enough shudder to give away that she was more affected by her dreams than she wanted to admit.

"Myself, for one," said Megatron. Lately he'd found himself dreaming of his creator, which was pleasant - he missed the old surgeon. Once he dreamt that he _was_ his creator. _That_ was unusual, though not entirely unknown. _If spark memories are opening up, what will become of Blackarachnia and Inferno? Only their programming was changed - we lacked the equipment to alter their sparks. So long as this limits itself to dreams, there should be no ... complications._ Inferno seemed to sleep well enough. He would have to question her.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

"To the wreckage of the Flying Island." It was why he wanted Blackarachnia along specifically - she had the most contact with the place. It wasn't far away from the _Axalon_ , just not easy to get to for non-flyers. The island had crashed into the sandy plain west of the plateau. Neither faction had done a follow-up study of the island, too busy fighting each other to risk picking through the possibly still-dangerous rubble of a smashed alien site.

"Is that a good idea?" Blackarachnia asked, tone stating it wasn't. "Obviously we need to study the alien sites but the island was full of traps. If they're still active we don't stand a chance."

"You seem to have made it out of the area without any trouble."

Blackarachnia fell silent and Megatron returned his thoughts to the question of his reprogrammed minions. _Inferno has been acting strangely lately - or not? She has been unhappy and sullen because she believes I am the wrong sex. It's part of her ant delusion and therefore simply Inferno being Inferno._

He was driving so he couldn't look back at Blackarachnia. _She seems no different. If she is scheming, it is because she is a schemer._

Both Inferno and Blackarachnia knew they were reprogrammed Maximals. Neither had ever shown an interest in becoming Maximals again, or even curiosity about their former lives. _Still, best to keep an optic on them, yes ..._

They reached the end of the plateau and the ground dropped away. It was an odd bit of geography - a sandy plain, roughly oval, almost entirely surrounded by cliffs save for one small passage to the jungle.

Megatron glanced back at Blackarachnia, curious how his technician would react to the height. She didn't look frightened - she'd had no fear of heights before - but she was gripping the hoversled's railing tightly. A spider had no fear of heights as long as she had something to hold on to. _Well, it will be easier to find what we seek at a lower elevation._ The hoversled slowly descended to the plain. He had no particular need to torment Blackarachnia and he knew from experience that too fast a drop made his internals shift - the damp weight of his abdominal organs suddenly making themselves known by feeling like they were trying to migrate into his chest.

They continued the search a few metres above ground level. The debris trail spread out before them, broken sand-coloured rocks and large chunks of darker brown dirt against the drying plain, the latter with an odd sort of melted look, staining the sand a darker brown where the chunk had been dissolved by rain. Patches of green still clung to the larger clumps. There had been a lake on the island but it had spilled and drained away in the crash. Here and there were the remains of broken trees and sometimes oddly round boulders - not perfect spheres, just a bit too regular and too evenly-sized to look natural. There was also metal - long cylinders like pipes, sometimes with three-pronged claws on the end.

"Hammers," said Blackarachnia, who had noticed the same thing. "At least that's one trap that can't spring." They stopped for several minutes to cut a piece of metal from the hammer with a small torch.

The Monument lay near the end of the trail. The tower had snapped off at the base when the island had finally ground to a halt. Between that, Tigatron's destruction of the central machine, and the upheavals of rock and dirt, there was no good place to leave the hoversled. They found a flat enough section closer to what had been the top of the tower. The windows were all smashed - it would be easy to get in if he wanted to inspect the command centre. _Another time, perhaps._ Today his interest was the machinery.

Blackarachnia took her scanner out of her backpack and fiddled with the settings. "All I'm getting is baseline readings. The Monument is offline."

Megatron unclipped the gun from his belt. "From the reports, there is a way to see if power still flows through the structure."

"Oh?"

"Take cover."

Blackarachnia ran. Megatron fired a shot at the Monument and followed. They ducked behind a large pile of rocks, waited, and when nothing happened for several minutes, ventured out again. "Did the scanner pick up anything?"

"The power levels spiked," said Blackarachnia, checking the readings. " _Something_ is still here, but it's weak."

They walked towards the base of the tower. The reports said it was full of machinery, which seemed off - the other structures tended to look organic, or in the case of the Standing Stones, built from unrefined materials. But the aliens did little that made sense.

Blackarachnia screamed suddenly as the ground fell out beneath her. Fortunately, since the island had crashed, this had the effect of being little more than a sinkhole. "There was no symbol!" Blackarachnia complained, scrambling out of the hole. "The traps were all marked before!"

"So they _can_ detect us in these forms," said Megatron.

"Maybe. The traps were motion-sensors rather than energy-sensors, as far as I could tell."

Megatron looked around. There were rocks of various sizes scattered about the area. On a hunch, he went over to one that looked like it had cracked and fallen off a large boulder, and with effort turned it over. An alien symbol was burned into the stone - not melted and cooled, but seemingly burnt like wood burns. At least that was consistent with the glyphs at the grassland site. "Here. The pattern still holds but we can't rely on visible warnings, no."

Blackarachnia kicked the dirt off her boots. "Not enough power to blast us, but at least some of the traps are still active, and us in these squishy bodies. Great. The deadfalls aren't dangerous any more since we're grounded but I'd rather not have to run a hammer gauntlet."

Trap sprung, harmless now, Megatron could inspect the glyph at his leisure. Scorponok had told him about the trap marker glyphs after he had returned from the island. "This symbol is on the Alien Disc. It cycles between two others."

"Unless the Disc's caused rocks to fall on your head, I don't know what it would mean there." She retreated, putting some distance between herself and the carving. "Maybe if I could inspect the Disc ..."

"I will consider it." Blackarachnia might have some insight towards deciphering the Alien Disc, between her contact with the island and her intelligence. She would be missing pieces - it was unlikely that she would solve the puzzle on her own and become a threat. He returned his thoughts to the carving. "It might be a general warning. A 'danger!' and not a specific 'here is a trap location'," said Megatron. _Which could mean this symbol warns of danger from whatever the other two glyphs it cycles with signify, or perhaps warns of certain combinations of symbols ... Or something else entirely._ "I rather want to take one back for study, if one is marked on a small enough rock or can be carved off a tree."

"I wouldn't think they'd be easily moved," said Blackarachnia. "A warning is useless if it's not posted in the right place."

"The glyphs may _cause_ the traps. The aliens do seem to like their signalling devices."

Blackarachnia frowned. "No physical trap until the aliens send a signal to transmute the land? So much for being safe from hammer gauntlets if the aliens can just plant new ones. That seems needlessly complicated, though. But a Flying Island at all seems needlessly complicated."

"Perhaps. The Maximal reports of the place seem to believe the island was a test for sapient beings. What qualities they were testing is unknown." Megatron knelt, tracing his fingers along the glyph. "And which sapients? The natives could not reach an island in the sky, not now, if they even exist yet. It will be millions of years before they create flying craft."

"You think it was made to test _us_?" Blackarachnia had made it the farthest, if taking control of the Monument was in fact the goal. It was plain the idea that she'd been run through a maze disgusted her.

Megatron brushed the dirt off his fingers. "More specifically, I think it was made for Primal. He was the one they took away at the Standing Stones for study. Perhaps the test was meant for all of us, but it was designed around Primal and his capabilities. I wonder what he was supposed to do with it once he claimed it."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tigatron wanted to go hunting and she preferred to hunt alone, leaving Airazor to find another way to spend her morning. She decided to see if Cheetor wanted company and went up to the command centre.

He was alone, sitting at the navigation station. She couldn't tell what he was looking at, only that he seemed intent on it. "Hey, Cheetor. Did you find a stasis pod?"

Cheetor yelped and jumped, shutting off the screen. "Augh!" When he realised it was her, he didn't relax. "Uh, no. No, still looking. Everything's fine."

Airazor put her hands on her hips, staring him down. "That doesn't sound suspicious at all."

He hunched back over the station. "I'm just busy. Very busy. Got to keep scanning."

Cheetor was probably just trying to hide that he'd been playing video games. Airazor decided to let him get away with it. She went out the roof hatch and climbed up on top of the _Axalon_. She hadn't been able to go up and sit on the _Axalon's_ roof in the rain, but for the first time in a week the sky was clear and the hull was dry so she was taking the opportunity.

The air was already dry, the sun burning away the damp as if trying to erase the existence of yesterday's rain. The wind blew warm, tangling her hair when it would have once ruffled her feathers. It had been a bit frightening the first time she'd climbed up there without wings, with the ravine so far below. Now she wanted it. The height and the wind weren't flight but they gave a little bit of that feeling.

The scout sat on an autogun emplacement, letting her legs dangle, and took in the world. The planet wasn't strange to her - she had flown between colony worlds and had known organic planets before. This one was only the most wild.

She had overheard a conversation the day before, Scorponok complaining to Waspinator that it was _wrong_ , all this green, all this brown, all this water - it _wasn't natural_. Airazor had to duck out of the corridor and nearly smothered herself trying not to laugh. Not because she thought Scorponok was wrong, just that she was used to Tigatron and her tastes and philosophies. What was considered natural came down to the nature of the beholder.

Airazor had a preference for metal but it didn't mean she couldn't like an organic world on its own merits. She liked the green and the wet - _here_.

"Oh! I can depart if you prefer to be alone."

Airazor turned to see Silverbolt at the hatch, hands braced on the roof but the action needed to pull him up and out incomplete. She waved him over. "I'd like company."

The neophyte climbed up and walked over to stand beside her, looking out over the jungle. "It is a lovely view you have up here."

"Doesn't belong to me." Then, because she was thinking about the topic, "You think it's pretty? What are you comparing it to?"

Silverbolt glanced over at her. "What could I compare it to?"

The scout shrugged. "Other worlds. That's what everyone else is doing."

"I know no other worlds."

"Other lands, then. The wasteland where you first woke up."

Silverbolt frowned in confusion. "How could they compare? That was a desert, this is a jungle."

Airazor laughed. "I'm glad _someone_ around here understands that. What've you got planned for the day?"

"Very little," Silverbolt admitted. "Dinobot and Rattrap are not recovered enough to continue training Quickstrike and me. They have listed reading and viewing materials but I have already completed most of them." He shook his head. "How does one set about acquiring tasks?"

"Oh, just ask around, see what needs doing." She looked back over the landscape. "Not much use in being a scout right now. Can't get far on these legs."

"But you have other skills."

She chuckled. "I'm a good pilot. That's no use now, either."

"I _want_ to work. I _want_ to be useful." Silverbolt's fists clenched, then his hands fell loose at his sides. "I just do not know what I _do_."

When a Cybertronian was made, they were made for a purpose. It might be a vague purpose like 'scout' or 'technician', but it was there. Airazor couldn't imagine not knowing that she was a scout. Even if she couldn't do it now, she still had the knowledge of her purpose. "What do you _want_ to do?"

Silverbolt sighed. "I do not know _that_ , either."

"Maybe we can find out."

 

* * *

 

Others tended to head for the green areas around the _Axalon_ when they had a chance to laze around outside. Quickstrike chose brown, remaining near the back of the ship, finding a large, flat rock. The sun had heated it - not unbearably, not this early in the morning, just enough that it was pleasantly warm against his back. He'd removed his shirt to use as a makeshift pillow, one arm over his eyes to block out the light, the other stretched out to the side. Quickstrike lay back and let the morning heat wash over him. After days of feeling sick and chilled all he wanted to do was soak up as much heat as possible.

The sensation might have been more intense if he'd showered later and let the sun dry him but he'd discovered by accident that Inferno always took a shower half a megacycle before the first shift started so he'd changed his schedule to fit. Of course, by the time the sun rose high enough to bask, he was dry, but seeing Inferno was worth it. As far as Quickstrike was concerned, the woman was perfect. Well, physically anyway - she was a bit weird to speak to but Quickstrike found all of them strange, them and their robot talk.

Thinking about the Predacon warrior made him feel warmer so he kept right on doing it. It also gave him an ache that started in his groin and spread up into his chest but it was kind of a pleasant feeling. _Primus, but that woman is gorgeous._ Copper skin - couldn't be called flawless, not with all the scrapes and bruises she'd got from renovating Megatron's quarters, not with that nasty-looking scar on her hand from where she'd been burned by some chemical, but Quickstrike thought her damages just enhanced her beauty. Not because they were pretty to look at but because they showed Inferno to be strong and active, unafraid of injury, shrugging off pain like it didn't matter. And there was watching the water flow down soft curves and hard muscle, making him want to ... well, come right down to it, Quickstrike wasn't certain _what_ he wanted. He was sure he'd figure it out if he got the chance.

_Too bad she's with that Megatron fellow. Well, 'Ferny ain't the only woman around. Maybe Tigatron._ She was built to similar heroic proportions and she didn't seem to have a man ...

"Hey, Maximal. Want to go for a ride?"

Recognising Terrorsaur's voice, Quickstrike debated whether he should bother opening his eyes. _'Course, where there's the screecher, Waspy ain't far behind and she's worth lookin' at._ He lifted his arm and opened his eyes. Terrorsaur looked down at him from a sharper angle than usual - he was standing on a metal pad suspended in the air. "Whaddya want, red?"

"I already said," Terrorsaur snapped, rolling his eyes.

Quickstrike looked past him. As he'd guessed, Waspinator was there, standing on another pad, giving Terrorsaur an impatient look. She was pretty in a different way than Inferno - scars didn't suit her, she looked better now that her burns had mostly healed. She and the others were still kind of reddish around the face and neck but that was all. Quickstrike had tried talking to her before but all he ever got were disdainful little 'I don't talk to Maximals' sniffs. He didn't think it was fair. Whatever Waspinator had against Maximals, Quickstrike didn't think it should apply to someone who had only woke up eleven days ago and been nothing but friendly.

"Hey!"

The Maximal dragged his reluctant gaze back to Terrorsaur. It was completely unfair that pretty Waspinator ignored him but her noisy redhead didn't. "What?"

"You coming or what?" demanded Terrorsaur.

He took a longer look at the contraption Terrorsaur was standing on. It looked a little like the loader sled in that it was a flat piece of metal hovering half a metre above the ground. However it was about a quarter of the size and had the control stick off to the side. "With _you_?"

"With _me_ ," Terrorsaur snapped. "Primus! How do you Maximals get anything done if you're this slow on the uptake?"

"Forget scruffy Maximal," Waspinator urged. "Terror-bot is wasting time."

Quickstrike looked back at Waspinator. "Well, s'long as I get to spend time with _you_ , sugar, I might be able to put up with red ..."

"What's going on down here?"

Another female voice. Quickstrike finally sat up so he could look around. Airazor this time. Sleek, streamlined, and easy to get along with. Tigatron was kind of aloof and the Predacon women weren't real friendly but Airazor would smile and chat like they'd been pals for years. She was currently being trailed by Silverbolt, unfortunately. _If'n that tinhorn gets himself a lady before I do ..._

Quickstrike didn't get a chance to report. Airazor swung up behind Terrorsaur and the pad lurched as Terrorsaur tried to move away from her without letting go of the control stick. He had to settle for glaring over his shoulder. Airazor grinned at him, though it was more just baring her teeth than a smile. "Where are you two going?"

"We're testing the range of the hoverpads by reprogramming some jamming towers into signal boosters for the commlinks," said Terrorsaur. It was funny how he was trying to hunch up scared and stand tall and snobby at the same time. "So it's Predacon business no matter how you look at it."

"There's a truce on," Airazor reminded him. "Predacon business is Maximal business. Besides, nobody's supposed to go off alone, not when we're stuck like this."

'Snobby' won out and Terrorsaur turned and drew himself up so he could look down his nose at Airazor. "Like anyone follows that rule. What makes you think Waspinator and I were going to split up?"

Airazor wasn't impressed by his height or his pointy nose. "You've both got toolboxes. Lucky guess."

"Feh," huffed Terrorsaur. "You only caught us because I was being a good little Predacon, following the rules, asking if Quickstrike wanted to come with me."

"Ain't goin' nowhere with _you_ , red ..." Quickstrike started.

Airazor cut him off. "Fine. Silverbolt, you've got a job for the day. I'll go with Waspinator."

"No," said Waspinator flatly. "Bird-bot shoots at Waspinator. If Waspinator has to take Maximal, Waspinator takes silver-bot."

Quickstrike wanted to protest that he'd be perfectly happy to go along with _Waspinator_ but Waspinator grabbed Silverbolt's arm and started away, forcing him to jump on lest he be dragged. Quickstrike glanced back at the other two, who were giving each other reluctant, wary looks. "You could say that I pushed you over and took off," said Terrorsaur.

"Quickstrike, go tell Cheetor where Silverbolt and I went." Airazor tightened her grip on the handrail. "I'm coming along whether you like it or not, Predacon."

"That'd be 'or not', Maximal." Terrorsaur hesitated, then steered the hoverpad to follow Waspinator.

Quickstrike sighed and pulled his shirt on, feeling that he'd been cheated out of feminine company. _Red didn't seem too happy about goin' with Airazor. What kinda idiot doesn't want to hang out with a pretty girl?_ The fact that she made Terrorsaur nervous just made her more attractive to Quickstrike.

The neophyte wandered up to the command centre. "Hey, spots - Airazor said to say that her and 'Bolt went off with Waspy and red to go look at some tower things."

Cheetor called up the duty roster file. "Jamming tower reprogramming. Yeah, Terrorsaur and Waspinator came up to sign out a few cycles ago." Then, grumbly, "Maybe the Preds will actually do what they said they went to do if they've got a couple Maximals along."

"She said they were gonna split up," said Quickstrike. He wasn't sure how detailed Airazor wanted the report to be but since it was for her he wasn't going to be found slacking. "Airazor went with red, 'Bolt got Waspy."

"She _what_? Airazor and Terrorsaur together is practically a truce violation by itself!" Cheetor exclaimed. "I mean, they _really_ don't like each other."

Quickstrike made a derisive noise. "I can see not likin' Terrorsaur."

 

* * *

 

Inferno hated the jungle. She hated how leaves and branches kept brushing and snapping against her. She hated how they snagged on her clothing and scratched her skin. She hated how the dense foliage hid things from her. She sniffed the air, then wrinkled her nose. She couldn't distinguish between scents like she used to - they all blended together now and she lost the subtleties. The smell of the jungle, wet and green with an undertone of rot, covered everything else. The smell was so thick it was almost a physical thing, like the air was liquid.

_Burn it. Burn it all down._ Inferno quashed the impulse with effort. Megatron had ordered her to wait. She would wait. The fire would burn all the hotter when it could finally be released.

She wanted to be in the sky, where her targets were easy to see, where she could scream her war-cries. In the jungle, sound was a liability. She had to be so careful walking, trying not to make any noise while still keeping her senses open to anything else. Sound was the sense she currently found herself relying on for protection. Scent muddled, vision limited by plants, complete loss of all radar and thermal scanners - Inferno listened to the ambient sounds of the jungle. Silence meant trouble. Silence meant that the life around her had fled and Inferno wasn't fast enough to give chase. Prey was faster than her now. So were predators.

Sound wouldn't help her find prey. Prey would also be quiet, listening for the same tells Inferno listened for. Hunting was by sight, looking for likely animal tracks in the thick, damp soil and rotting leaves.

It was because Inferno was paying such close attention to the ground that she noticed the footprint.

It was easy to tell human footprints - long ovals that had no toes because they wore boots. _The tiger must have come this way ... Only something seems wrong ..._

Inferno stepped into the footprint. It was larger than hers, which ruled out everyone but Megatron or possibly Dinobot. _It must have been made today or the rain would have destroyed it._ She frowned down at the impression in the leaf mould. Megatron hadn't been out this way and Dinobot was stuck in the _Axalon_. Another Maximal, perhaps. The stasis pods had all come down in the energy wave and the Maximals couldn't find them. One could have activated on its own.

Megatron would think this discovery more important than hunting. She tried to contact the _Axalon_ to ask him for instructions but her commlink was full of static. Left with the choice of backtracking the footprints to find the stasis pod or following them to find the Maximal, Inferno followed. Only her pod had been a colony; she had no use for an empty one.

She wasn't certain what she would _do_ with the Maximal once she caught up with them. Under ordinary circumstances she would attack but these were not ordinary circumstances. Hopefully by then she would have new instructions.

 

* * *

 

"Your blasted hair keeps blowing in my face!"

"Deal with it."

Airazor entertained a brief fantasy involving a pair of metal snips but cast it aside. Other than having too much hair, Terrorsaur wasn't doing anything obnoxious. She decided not to remind him that for once _she_ was behind _him_ , and though she was unarmed she could easily snatch Terrorsaur's gun from the holster strapped to his back. He'd shot her in the back often enough that the idea of returning the favour with his own weapon was tempting. Doubtless he was already thinking that ... if his mind wasn't fully occupied by flying ...

It wasn't _great_ flying, they were only a metre off the ground and dodging trees, but it was better than nothing. She wondered if the hoverpad could go faster if there weren't any obstacles to slow it down.

She leaned out a bit to avoid Terrorsaur's hair and got a faceful of leaves. Airazor swore. Terrorsaur had enough sense not to turn around while he was driving. "You speak Predacon?"

"Sometimes," Airazor admitted, picking leaves out of her hair. "Well, you lot have the best swear words."

"You should have gone with Waspinator." Terrorsaur chuckled. "Or talk to Scorponok. Scorponok can strip paint just by cursing at it."

Fortunately they soon left the jungle behind them - the jamming tower was out on a rocky plain. Airazor couldn't think why her crew hadn't destroyed it. _Maybe the Predacons put it up recently and we just hadn't found it yet. Of all the things to have turned out for the best!_

Terrorsaur steered over beside the tower and they realised there was a new problem. The hoverpads, altered for long-range use, could only gain so much height. Both flyers looked up at the jamming tower. Terrorsaur frowned. "I'll have to climb it. I'll tell you what tools I need and you pass them up."

The toolbox had magnets and could stick to the metal frame of the tower but manoeuvring the entire box up and down the tower seemed more difficult than Terrorsaur's suggestion. "Got it."

He parked the hoverpad so he could fiddle with his commlink. "Terrorsaur to the _Axalon_. _Axalon_ , do you hear me?" The only reply was static. Since the Predacon was distracted, Airazor slipped up behind him and took his gun. "Treacherous Maximal!"

"I'm taking this for _your_ benefit," said Airazor, stepping back before he could lunge at her. "The way I see it, we _have_ to look out for each other. If some big animal attacks I'll be in the better place to fend it off."

Terrorsaur sneered at her. "Suddenly feeling all protective, Maximal? What brought about this change of spark?"

Airazor settled the gun against her shoulder, barrel pointed to the sky. "Because if something happens to either of us, even if it's just by accident, no one is going to believe we didn't get in a fight."

He snorted - all the agreement she was going to get from him. Terrorsaur tucked an impact wrench into his belt and scrambled up the tower. He took out and pocketed the bolts that held the access plate on, then dropped the plate. He had carefully lined it up so that it wouldn't hit Airazor but close enough that it was obvious he'd have preferred if it did. "I need that little box and the soldering iron."

Airazor set Terrorsaur's gun down on the hoverpad, then obligingly gathered up what was indicated and climbed to stand on the crossbar. She traded tools with him and swung down. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"Oh? And which one of us decided she needed to tear me apart ten nanoclicks out of her pod?" Terrorsaur asked. "Get me the pliers - the long ones."

"You were about to shoot Rhinox in the head," Airazor pointed out, climbing. "What was I supposed to do?"

Terrorsaur shrugged and accepted the pliers. "You take up my airspace."

Airazor shifted gears to follow the argument. "You've got no problem with the other flyers."

The Predacon didn't look down from where he was fiddling with wires and chips. "Waspinator doesn't count. She used to be helicopters anyway."

"I expect ..." Airazor started, then realised what Terrorsaur had said. "Hang on. Helicopters, plural?"

Terrorsaur stopped working so he could look at her. "Duocon. Our CR tanks couldn't handle reformatting her properly so she got stuck with a monocomponent beast-mode."

Terrorsaur's tone held a distinct note of _You wanna make something of it?_ so Airazor filed the information about Waspinator away without comment. "I'll bet Inferno used to be a helicopter," said Airazor. "Optimus ..."

"Jetpack? Please."

Terrorsaur returned his attention to the tower, leaving Airazor to mull the conversation over. To her disgust, she realised he'd summed up perfectly why she hated him on such a basic level despite barely knowing anything about him. Waspinator and Inferno were threats but they were never _personal_ threats.

It wasn't the voice, it wasn't the attitude, and it wasn't even the backshots - Terrorsaur was an enemy jet and he took up her airspace. Even when he was a pteranodon. Even when he was a soft xeno.

She was startled when he spoke, though it wasn't to her - the Predacon had activated his commlink again. "Terrorsaur to the _Axalon_. C'mon, answer."

Cheetor's voice was tinny through the tiny speaker. _"What do you want, Terrorsaur?"_

"Nothing. I'm just testing the range of the commlinks."

There was the brief pause of instruments being checked. _"There's a bit of static but your signal's strong."_

"That's all I wanted. Terrorsaur out." Shutting off his commlink, he turned back to Airazor. "This one's done. Hand up the panel." When she did, Terrorsaur reattached it, tossed Airazor the impact wrench, then started his climb down.

His foot missed the crossbar. Terrorsaur grabbed at the tower, missed, and fell.

"Terrorsaur!" The fall hadn't killed him at least - Terrorsaur spat out two words that Airazor knew and a dozen that she didn't, cradling his foot. Airazor jumped down from the hoverpad, reached down, and thought better of it before she touched him. "Are you all right?"

" _Oturaton_ ... Obviously not!"

"We should go back to the _Axalon_."

"Nngh. Yes."

Airazor bit back surprise. Just about everyone she knew would have insisted they weren't that hurt and they should continue their work. She held out her hand - let him decide if he wanted help or not - and he let her pull him to his feet. Foot, anyway. Terrorsaur winced when he let the injured one touch the ground and had to lean on Airazor to get back to the hoverpad.

To make conversation, Airazor said, "I couldn't translate most of that. Want to teach me more swear words?"

Terrorsaur carefully sat down on the hoverpad. "It wasn't Predacon."

"What?" asked Airazor. Terrorsaur's lips tightened. _Okay, so he speaks some other language and it embarrasses him._

Airazor got back on the hoverpad and rested her hand on the device's control stick. It was designed to be flown one-handed but trying to hold Terrorsaur's gun at the same time would make balance difficult. Reluctantly, hating that Terrorsaur would be armed and behind her, she gave his weapon back.

He reached back and holstered it without a second glance. "If I shot you now, I'd be stuck out here," Terrorsaur said, shrugging.

_And if I just pushed you off and left ..._ Airazor started but refused to finish the thought. _He's hurt and he needs help, so I'll help._ She took the control, guiding the hoverpad across the plain.

Terrorsaur gave an unpleasant chuckle. "I suppose you win this one, Maximal. You got what you wanted."

"I didn't _want_ you to fall off the tower."

"Maybe, but don't think I don't know why you insisted on coming along." He adjusted himself a bit more comfortably, drawing his legs up so his feet wouldn't dangle off the hoverpad. "Truce nothing, teamwork nothing - you needed a chance to fly."

 

* * *

 

The base of the Monument was a wreck, not only destroyed by the tower's collapse but by an energy weapon. Tigatron's doing, but Megatron knew there was no use cursing the Maximals lest he never have time to do anything else. Megatron and Blackarachnia sifted through the rubble as best they could. The broken parts were very machinelike compared to other examples of the aliens' technology, though from Scorponok's and Blackarachnia's descriptions, the tower's core looked less like a true machine than a stack of machine-like parts piled up by someone who had seen a machine once but didn't understand it. Megatron had set aside a small pile of odds and ends he planned to run tests on later.

They had been digging for nearly two megacycles, trying to find the core of the site. To his annoyance, Megatron found himself doing most of the work. Worse, he knew it was how it had to be. He had always been far larger and stronger than Blackarachnia but before she could have done her share of the heavy lifting. In these bodies, Megatron wasn't even as strong as Blackarachnia used to be and Blackarachnia's small organic form was nigh useless for debris-clearing.

The odd thing was that Blackarachnia was trying. Before, she would have been laughing about how he, her commander, was doing the grunt-work - _Ooh, Megatron, I would_ love _to help but I'm just not built for it. Blame Tarantulas._ Here, perhaps sensing his irritation, perhaps angry at her own physical limitations, perhaps just wanting the work done as quickly as possible, Blackarachnia was digging through the ruins, moving what pieces she could lift, and straining over ones she couldn't.

Megatron had removed his shirt over a megacycle ago in an attempt to avoid overheating. He'd found out that Dinobot had kicked him hard enough to leave a large bruise when Blackarachnia pointed it out. Of course she wanted to know what happened but Megatron left the explanation at 'these bodies damage too easily'. Let her distract herself inventing theories.

He picked up his shirt again, using it to mop the coolant from his face and neck. "You once controlled this structure," he said. "What was that like?"

"Transforming." Blackarachnia shrugged and sat down on the metal sheet she'd been attempting to shift with another piece of debris as a lever. She drew her legs partway up so she could lean her elbows on her knees. "It just felt natural, like the island was an extension of myself."

"Mm. More than just jacked in. More than Monitor commune? I've heard that was like being a building."

Blackarachnia shook her head. "It was like wearing a new body. It was mine and it was _right_ and if I'd had just a little more time I'd have been able to do more than fire the guns and steer it."

Implied that she would have destroyed the _Axalon_ and the Maximals given the chance. It didn't need to be said that she would have come after Megatron next. Despite the unspoken threat, Megatron had no fear of her - Blackarachnia was too smart to want to lead the Predacons in their current situation. "Similar to what happened to Primal with the Probe. I wonder if he could have done more with it if he had been more focused."

"What about the site out in the grassland that you and Optimus checked out? What came of that?"

"Nothing, yet. The samples we took were perfectly ordinary specimens of plants and rocks. It appears to lend credence to the theory that the aliens do not build their sites but transmute them, " said Megatron. "I wonder, if we could trace back the Flying Island to its origin, if we would find the land had a scoop taken out of it. Do you know where it came from?"

She shrugged. "No. I didn't check its previous flight path, if it even stored that information."

"Unfortunate. How close are we to the power source?"

The technician picked up her scanner again. "Very."

Megatron tossed his shirt aside. "Let us finish this."

It was another half-megacycle of digging before he saw it. The device was like the sphere that Inferno had found under the Standing Stones, only twice as large with light purple glass insets instead of blue. It was lit from within, dimly. "Finally, a point of consistency." The size and colours were different but it was obviously the same type of device.

Blackarachnia waved the scanner at it. "This is what's giving off the power readings, all right. It's very weak but not completely dead."

"Good." Megatron waved towards the device. "Take it from the chamber, Blackarachnia."

She took a step back. "If you want it so badly, _you_ pick it up."

"This site accepted you. Perhaps it still knows you."

Blackarachnia seemed like she would refuse, then thought better of it, setting the scanner aside. Blackarachnia gingerly touched the sphere, and when that brought no reprisal she reached down and pulled it out of its chamber. The strands that had attached it to the structure pulled and snapped like vines rather than like wires.

Megatron retrieved the scanner. Moving the sphere, taking it from its chamber had no effect on its energy readings. "If it was a part of you while you were the tower, which part was it?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"Blackarachnia, if you are withholding information ..."

"I _don't know_ ," Blackarachnia snapped. "Just because it was a part of me doesn't mean I know what it was. Can _you_ name every little piece of _your_ body? Can you tell them apart?"

Before, yes. Now, no. Even having gone over scan data of his new body he wasn't certain what each organ did and his insides felt like a near-homogeneous mass. Despite this, he could make it function without effort. And this was only an ordinary organic body, not a construct of aliens who seemed unencumbered by physics. "Very well."

"Back to the _Axalon_ , then?"

"Hm, no," said Megatron, setting the scanner aside so he could pull his shirt back on. It was still damp with coolant and felt unpleasant but he would rather have the slight protection it afforded than not. "We'll store it at our base for now, with precautions. I'd like to have a better idea of what it is before sharing it with the Maximals. That and the aliens seem to be playing a more complicated game than mere destruction. Until I know their goals I would rather be cautious with their devices. There are undoubtedly fates worse than humanity, yes."

 

* * *

 

Optimus had slept poorly and woken up feeling stressed and irritable, and up in the command centre the morning's reports did nothing to alleviate his mood. Predacon jamming towers being turned into comm replays was good, but Airazor and Terrorsaur were out there together and that was guaranteed to end in a fight. And that wasn't the bad news.

He folded his arms and looked down at Cheetor. "You let Megatron take the hoversled."

"I didn't _let_ him," Cheetor protested. "He signed out and stole it. I couldn't chase him - he went over the ravine."

"You weren't watching him."

Cheetor spread his hands imploringly. "We don't have cameras under the _Axalon_!"

"You _let_ Megatron take the hoversled."

"Well, it's got a tracking device in it, right?" said Cheetor, pointing out the blip on the map. "He didn't disable it. I've been keeping track of him. He went to the crash site of the Flying Island. He's been there for a few megacycles."

"Knowing where he is isn't the same as knowing what he's up to," said Optimus. "You should have told someone."

"I didn't want to wake you up." The tone was half _you needed the sleep_ and half _I hoped he'd come back before you found out._ "Anyway, Megatron's not going to come back even if _you_ ordered him to."

Optimus covered his eyes with one hand and gestured back into the ship with the other. "You're confined to the base for the rest of the day."

Cheetor slunk away - past Rattrap, who had apparently been there long enough to hear the argument. Rattrap stepped into the command centre, shaking his head. "Pussycat's got no sense."

"He could have called for back-up," Optimus said. "Now Megatron's got the hoversled and he's out there doing Primus knows what."

"The hoversled that I took a couple key parts out of." Rattrap made a face. "I should've expected he'd make spares."

"We'll come up with a new lock when he gets back," said Optimus, rubbing his hand across his eyes. "You're sure you're up to a shift? You're still damaged."

Rattrap rolled his eyes. "I can't lie around any longer. I gotta do _something_."

 

* * *

 

Terrorsaur was coming to the conclusion that he didn't understand Maximals at all. Airazor had spent months fighting him but now that he was injured by accident she was helping him. He certainly wouldn't be as kind if their positions had been reversed, truce or no truce.

They came back in through the cargo lift, fortunately - Terrorsaur preferred to put off the interrogation that would occur if they came in through the command centre. Let Airazor go report in and try to convince the other Maximals it had been an accident. Just because it was true didn't mean they'd believe her immediately.

The _Axalon_ corridors weren't really big enough to steer the hoverpad through, but Airazor managed it. They had to leave it in the hallway - the hoverpad would be in the way in the small xenobiology lab. Which meant Terrorsaur had to grit his teeth and accept help from Airazor again, putting an arm over her shoulders for support because he couldn't let his foot touch the ground without his ankle screaming agony. The only upside was knowing that Airazor was just as uncomfortable with the arrangement. Terrorsaur hated to suffer alone.

Airazor had been talking about finding Optimus to run scans but it was a moot point because Tarantulas was already in the lab. She looked up from the computer console. "Well, well, what have we here?"

"I fell off a jamming tower," Terrorsaur explained as Airazor helped him to sit on a table. "I think I broke my ankle joint."

"Ooh, structural damage," said Tarantulas too eagerly. "The Maximal didn't push you?"

Tempting as it was to lie, causing trouble right now felt like more bother than it was worth. "Not this time."

Tarantulas got up and walked over to him. "Which foot?"

"Left."

Tarantulas very gently took his left foot in her hands, then yanked his boot off hard enough that the sock came with it. Terrorsaur yelled as the joint was pulled. "Ow! Maniac!" Though no wonder it had hurt to remove the boot - his ankle looked thicker than it should have been, and a dark slash of a bruise stood out sharply along his foot.

"You want me to look at your foot, I need to be able to _see_ it," Tarantulas chuckled.

Terrorsaur automatically reached back for his gun ... which he had left lying on the hoverpad because it got in the way of Airazor holding him up. His fist clenched air. "If Waspinator was here -"

Tarantulas leaned close, grinning. "But she's not."

" _I'm_ still here," said Airazor. Distracted by Terrorsaur's injury, neither Predacon had realised she hadn't left. "What would Waspinator do?"

Terrorsaur glared at Tarantulas. "She'd make sure every pain the spider caused me was paid back double." He shifted his gaze to Airazor to briefly check her reaction, but paused, surprised at the considering look she was giving Tarantulas.

Tarantulas picked up on it as well. "No fighting in the _Axalon_." But she sounded a bit uncertain.

"That's really for cross-faction fighting, isn't it?" asked Airazor. "What if I fought a Predacon to defend another Predacon?"

"That might be an amusing loophole to untangle, but not at my expense," Tarantulas huffed, then went to a cupboard.

Terrorsaur took the moment of semi-privacy. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "I don't want your help."

Airazor glared at him but leaned down and whispered back. "And I don't want to help you but I'm not leaving anyone alone to the tender mercies of that sadist."

Tarantulas returned a moment later with a scanner. She waved it over Terrorsaur's foot a couple times, then gave a disappointed sigh. "No bones broken. I think it's more like an overextended ligament. I expect it will just repair itself."

That was better than it could have been but did nothing to help him now. Terrorsaur collected his boot but didn't put it back on, and carefully slid off the table, landing on his undamaged foot. Before he could wonder what he was going to do now or how to get there, Airazor caught his arm and put it over her shoulders. "I'll get you to your quarters, then you're on your own."

He let her help him back into the corridor, then twisted away, catching the wall for balance. "I'm _not_ going to be indebted to _you_ ," Terrorsaur snapped.

At least she didn't try to grab him again. "I don't _want_ anything from you."

"I didn't ask for your help." He managed to make his way to the hoverpad and retrieve his gun. He stowed it on his back, almost losing his balance at the weight, but managed to stay upright.

"No, I offered it."

"And I refuse." He turned away, making slow progress back towards the lift, hanging on to the wall and taking small hops. Airazor didn't follow, which raised her a grudging point in his estimation. Terrorsaur would go back to his quarters to rest his foot and curse the universe.

 

* * *

 

Airazor tapped the door chime and waited. When Cheetor opened the door, she grinned at him. "I was told you'd probably be here. I need someone from the core crew and the others are busy." Running around with Terrorsaur had been an unexpected distraction but it had given her time to sort out her plan.

Cheetor glanced down the hall. "I'm kinda grounded."

"I already talked to Optimus - you're only stuck on the ship. We're just going to the cargo bay. Come on."

She knew he wouldn't take much convincing. Cheetor stepped out of his room. "What're you up to?"

"Crates," she said, leading the way. "You're part of the original crew so you've got the override clearance I need to open them."

Cheetor rubbed at the back of his neck. "I don't know if we should be digging through other people's stuff without them."

"Already taken care of," said Airazor, opening the cargo bay door. "I found Quickstrike before I found you."

They walked in. Cheetor flinched away from a crate that had been carefully tucked to the side - the rain meant that the Maximals hadn't had a chance to set up the pyre to dispose of Crossbolt's body. Airazor patted his back. She hadn't known Crossbolt, his death only affected her as the death of any strange Maximal - sad but not personal. She found herself checking the floor instead, to see if they had missed any blood. There was no evidence of that day at all - even the Predacons had finished their work and replaced the deck plates.

Quickstrike was waiting for them, perched on one of the personal crates near the back of the cargo bay. He swung down as they approached. "Hey, sugar! I was startin' to wonder if you'd forgotten me."

"Who could forget _you_?" Airazor teased.

Quickstrike laughed, then, "How come you don't know who I was? You matched the number on the pod to the number on the crate. Wouldn't I have had to sign up for this rodeo?"

"Names change," said Cheetor. "Especially on colony missions because there's almost always a reformat involved to fit the new environment and people usually change their names if the reformat is major enough. I mean, I was 'Velocitor' before. I wasn't 'Cheetor' until I was a cheetah."

Quickstrike looked Cheetor over, frowning. "You _ain't_ a cheetah."

Cheetor looked at his hands. "Yeah, _this_ was a pretty big reformat. I still _feel_ like a cheetah, though." He shook his head. "Anyway, that's why we don't use names."

The neophyte shrugged. "I don't remember packin' but I don't remember _anythin'_. Open 'er up."

Cheetor overrode the crate's lock and flipped up both halves of the lid. Airazor leaned a bit closer for a better look, asking, "This all looks like personal items. Finally! May I?"

"Be my guest, sugar. What else would be in my luggage?" Quickstrike picked a small holographic emitter from the jumble of items.

Airazor listened to the others talk as she rifled through the crate, pulling out a stack of plastic sheets for inspection. "We keep finding random scrap in these things," Cheetor explained. "Like, Airazor's was full of metal cut-offs like someone had trimmed a bunch of plates but then threw out the extra instead of recycling it. It looks like you actually did your own packing. Maybe you'll finally know who you are."

The neophyte made an annoyed sound. "I know who I _am_."

"Well, who you were before."

"A pin-up collector." Airazor flipped through the stack of plastic sheets - posters. She chuckled. "Maybe I'm wrong. It's hard to tell - it's all pictures of xenos from what I see - but I'd swear these were meant to be racy."

A smaller sheet fluttered out of the stack, and Quickstrike scooped it up. Curious, Airazor looked over his shoulder.

The picture was different from the others, not only because of its size. Mostly it was that it looked natural instead of posed. It was a picture of a female of the species they were now, or something similar. She might have been something else - there was something about her face that was unlike any of theirs. The skin seemed looser. She had short, messy hair that might have been wavy if it was longer, dull copper with a silver streak. Her skin was darker than her hair and her eyes were brown. She was seated on a berth, legs crossed at the ankles, leaning forward towards the viewer, one hand rubbing her thigh, the other tugging at the fastening of her shapeless gray coveralls. They were open to her midsection - she was leaning forward to accentuate her breasts. She was smiling, mouth open slightly, as if she had been caught speaking or just about to laugh.

Airazor shifted her attention to the wall behind the figure. The architecture looked Maximal, with lines that suggested a ship or base. A corner of a window showed blackness and stars. Quarters, probably hers. There was padding on the berth and it seemed to be to her scale. Of course, in Cybertronian-built quarters, there was no way to tell scale - the person could have been four metres tall.

In the lower right corner were words written on the plastic. In the precise pictograms of the Maximal alphabet: _I bet you're sorry you left._ After, two words in a curving alien script and a symbol that didn't seem to be a letter. "Do you know who this is?" Airazor asked.

Quickstrike shook his head. "Not a clue. Not even a feelin'." His lips twitched into a smirk. "Seems friendly, though. Maybe I shoulda stayed with her."

"Maybe you were transferred," said Airazor. The card felt playful rather than bitter - whoever the person was, she and Quickstrike had parted as friends. "Can you read those two alien words?"

"No. I don't even recognise the alphabet." The neophyte sighed. "Too bad. It's probably her name. Wouldn't mind knowin' it."

"Maybe you left because you'd signed up to be on the _Axalon_ ," Cheetor suggested.

"Maybe. Ain't no way to tell from this."

Airazor left Quickstrike to continue picking through the crate. "This is odd ..."

Quickstrike glanced over. "What, sugar?"

"There aren't any spare parts," said Airazor. "Or hardly any. Just some welding rig assemblies."

Cheetor came over to look, taking one of the devices from Airazor to inspect it. "Maybe his previous form was something that wouldn't be useful on an organic planet so he didn't bother, or ..." He laughed suddenly. "'Property of Quickdraw'! You must have _some_ memory if you picked a new name so close to your old one, 'Strike. Or since there was no reprogramming you're still the same person so of course you'd have a similar name."

The neophyte smiled slowly, a look of dawning comprehension, and Airazor thought Quickstrike's previous name must have jogged his memory until he spoke: "No spare parts. No robot bits," he said. "That proves somethin'."

"Oh?" asked Airazor.

Quickstrike clapped her on the shoulder. "I've been right the whole time."

Airazor and Cheetor left the cargo bay to let Quickstrike dig through the remnants of his old life in privacy, and to talk. "He's more convinced than ever that he's always been organic!" Airazor complained once the door closed. "He'll never believe he's Cybertronian now!"

"Well ... maybe he wasn't," said Cheetor. He picked up the small picture, frowning. "She _does_ look an awful lot like we do now. If she knew Quickstrike, maybe Quickstrike was the same species. Maybe the aliens didn't change him at all."

" _What?_ " Airazor rubbed her temples. "Don't tell me you've caught his delusion. He was a protoform. Rhinox even pulled what he would have looked like out of his pod's datatracks. How come she has a xeno name but his stuff is labelled 'Quickdraw'?"

"Xenos have sparks too, right? Sort of?" asked Cheetor. "Maybe someone's figured out how to put them in protoforms."

Airazor shook her head. "Impossible."

"Okay, it's impossible, but it _feels_ important."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Optimus hoped a bit of mindless busywork would settle him, and for that one of the options was cataloguing the near-endless array of plant samples in the xenobotany lab. He found Rhinox already there, though instead of plant samples the engineer had the alien sphere from the Standing Stones on the table in front of him. "Megatron's letting you play with his toy?"

Rhinox shrugged. "That just means he's got all he can out of it. He didn't share his notes though. I get the feeling it's not that he's holding back something important, it's that he learned very little and doesn't want to admit it. It can't be worthless - it was the core of the Standing Stones."

Optimus sat down in the other chair. "What have you found?"

"Well, I can infer that the sphere hasn't got any direct ties to the Alien Disc - that's the track Megatron would have taken." While Megatron insisted on keeping the Alien Disc in his quarters, he had agreed to let the Maximals make their own scans for research purposes. It wasn't like he was in a position to refuse. Rhinox tapped at a blue glass inset. "So on our guest's suggestion I'm approaching it from my field of science."

That explained why Rhinox had brought the sphere to the xenobotany lab. "You think it's a plant?"

"Megatron thought it might be. On a whim I ran a DNA scan. It hasn't got any. It's metallic, though what alloy I couldn't tell you. It's like nothing I've seen before, at least not before we started finding these alien sites." The engineer frowned. "It _does_ seem like it was grown like a plant rather than built or even grown like a crystal. The interior structure is very organic; it branches like a root system."

"It's not an alien site _seed_ , is it?"

"Ordinarily I would say no but given the capacities of the aliens I wouldn't rule anything out. We'll need to go back to see if the other sites have these spheres. It may be something that was unique to the Standing Stones."

Optimus touched his forehead briefly. "Megatron beat you to it - _that's_ what he's up to. He swiped the loader sled and took it to the wreckage of the Flying Island."

Rhinox stood and picked up the sphere. "We'll see if he helpfully shares that one. I'm going to go back to my research on the Disc, see if I can extrapolate any more alien site locations."

Alone, Optimus took out a handful of plant samples to sort through. He'd finished the second scan when the intercom activated: _"Rattrap to the boss-primate."_

"I'm here," said Optimus, automatically looking up at the speaker. "What is it, Rattrap?"

_"Megs and the widow are at the Pred base,"_ Rattrap announced. _"And I doubt they're just pickin' up more bath toys. Want me to call 'em up and surprise 'em?"_

Optimus shook his head. "No. Let Megatron think he's pulled one over on us for now. I'd rather confront him in person."

_"Got it. I'll keep trackin' him. He's the most interesting thing goin' on, anyway."_

The connection cut. Optimus finished up his notes on the leaf he'd been scanning, then activated the general intercom. "Optimus to Cheetor."

There was a pause as Cheetor found an intercom to answer with. _"Er, hi, big bot."_

"Could you come up to the xenobotany lab for a minute?"

_"Okay."_

The scout appeared a few minutes later, looking like he'd rather be elsewhere. The morning's reprimand was obviously still stinging. Optimus swivelled his chair to face him properly. "Cheetor, I'm sorry. I treated you unfairly."

Cheetor shrugged awkwardly. "You've been under kind of a lot of pressure the last few days."

"No excuses," said Optimus. "You should have been paying more attention to Megatron but I shouldn't have been so hard on you."

"It kinda turned out for the best," said Cheetor with the beginning of a grin. "Airazor's got me helping her open personal crates in the cargo bay ... No, we're only doing it with the owner's permission while they're there, so it's all right," Cheetor explained quickly.

"Don't worry - she asked me first. I know what she's doing. What have you found?"

"We've only done Quickstrike's so far. It was all full of xeno stuff." Cheetor paused, then, "Is it possible he might not be Cybertronian?"

Optimus frowned. "I've never heard of putting a xeno spark in a protoform. It might be theoretically possible."

Cheetor laughed. "He sure thinks it is. I can't wait to see his face when we get our metal back."

_'When'._ Optimus didn't let his expression flicker in the face of Cheetor's optimism. It hadn't even occurred to the scout that it was a question of _if_. "I just wanted to apologise for snapping at you. Go on outside. I know you've been wanting to."

"I can't yet - me and Airazor need to talk to Tarantulas. She probably knows the serial numbers from Blackarachnia and Inferno's pods. Then we gotta wait for them to get back." Cheetor shrugged. "It's their stuff. Besides, it might jog their memories."

Cheetor left. Optimus packed the plant samples away. There was one more person he felt he ought to check on, even if he wasn't looking forward to dealing with him. This one he had to seek out instead of calling for.

Optimus found a library datapad, then went to the quarters section of the ship. He stopped in front of Terrorsaur's door and tapped the chime. The Predacon's voice shot back immediately: _"Open it yourself! I'm not getting up for you!"_ So Optimus did.

The Predacon was an unhappy sprawl across his berth. When he realised who was in his doorway, he scrambled to a sitting position. "What do _you_ want, ape?"

"I heard you were hurt." Optimus walked over and handed Terrorsaur the datapad.

Terrorsaur took it carefully, as if it were booby-trapped. "Why?"

Answers like _because I feel concern for you as a fellow Cybertronian and as long as you're a guest of sorts I feel responsible for you, and this is all I can do to help_ were too likely to be met with sneering and argument. Optimus shrugged. "Why not? The datapad's tied to the ship's library. I don't know if there's anything to your interest in it but that's what we have."

Terrorsaur's curiosity was strong enough that he activated the datapad and skimmed through the index. " _And The Light_ , _Bring Down the Moon_ , most of Starvoice's work, _To My Fallen Lieutenant_ , _The Saga of Sunlance_ , _Fortress_ , _Tales of the Navigator_ ... Primus, nothing but obligatory classics. Probably the Maximal rewrites, too. Aren't you allowed to read anything else or are you all just boring?"

"We're just boring," said Optimus dryly, used to the same complaint from Rattrap. "I brought most of those. I like them. What do you mean 'the Maximal rewrites'?"

"They're all either Primordialist mythology rewritten to include Maximals, Great War novels rewritten for Maximals, or new novels that are just instructions for how to be a good Maximal in story form," Terrorsaur complained. "And I've read them so many times I could recite them backwards. Isn't there anything new in here?"

Optimus' surprise that Terrorsaur, Predacon thug, had read Maximal classic literature at all, let alone in enough depth to criticise, was smacked into by his shame at having such a prejudice. Of course Predacons read, and why couldn't they read classics? It wasn't as if Optimus knew anything about Terrorsaur beyond Predacon, claustrophobic, likes to shoot people in the back. "There are a lot of scientific journals and biographies in there as well."

"I suppose that'll do," said Terrorsaur, but there was an edge of eagerness he couldn't quite hide.

"If you don't like them, why read them so many times? Were you a student?"

Terrorsaur laughed harshly. "No. He had the full collection on file and not much else except for his xenoflora catalogues. It was just for show, to look well-read. He was never much of a reader," said Terrorsaur, and Optimus noted the bitter tone, the omission of the name. Perhaps Terrorsaur was just guarding his privacy, or wouldn't say the name because he hated 'him'. "I had a lot of free time and not a lot of options. I managed to get my hands on some translations of the originals later. Forced on me, in a few cases." He looked back down at the datapad, skimming. "I can't say I liked the originals better, though. They didn't make much sense. I think I was missing a lot of context."

There were many questions he wanted to ask. Optimus tactfully chose the least-personal one. "You're talking about acquiring Great War era writings like it's not a big deal."

"Oh." Terrorsaur drew back slightly, an obvious _I've said too much_ , but it seemed to be almost an embarrassed reaction rather than the usual _we do not talk to Maximals_. "All right, you've done your charity for the poor, damaged Predacon. Don't think I'm going to go all Dinobot on you." But he gripped the datapad tight enough that the skin of his knuckles went from pale to white, as if Optimus might try to take it back.

Much as he wanted to ask more, Optimus accepted the dismissal. The spirit of the truce included respecting privacy.

 

* * *

 

To identify Blackarachnia and Inferno's crates, Cheetor and Airazor needed the serial numbers from the stasis pods that the Predacons stole, which meant Cheetor found himself looking for the last person he ever wanted to owe a favour to. Airazor was with him, so that helped.

Tarantulas was holed up in the xenobiology lab, working on some project or other - the screen she was reading was full of chemical codes that Cheetor couldn't translate. The Predacon barely glanced over when the door opened. "You again, bird? Go spoil someone else's fun. I'm busy doing important research on these new forms."

"We'll only be a cycle," said Airazor. "You saw Blackarachnia and Inferno's pods. Do you remember their serial numbers?"

"Hm? Yes."

"Well?"

"I'm not in the habit of giving away information for free," said Tarantulas. "I'm still trying to sort out blood types. Give me more samples and I'll give you the numbers."

"You already got blood from everyone. You don't need more," said Cheetor.

The Predacon grinned at him. "Then maybe I just want a snack, _teh-heh-heh-ha_."

It took everything he had but Cheetor didn't flinch. Between the physical changes and the truce and the general strangeness of the last several days it was sometimes easy to forget just what the Predacons were ... but not that _this_ soft organic had once hung him in a web so that she could drain his mech fluid. He still had nightmares about that sometimes, not that he would ever admit that to Tarantulas.

Airazor held out her arm. "Let's have it."

Tarantulas performed the task in a businesslike way, drawing the blood without torment or fuss. Cheetor couldn't help but feel the Predacon was just trying to lull him into a false sense of security. She quickly transferred the contents from syringe to vial. "The serial number on Blackarachnia's pod was D8-C48-BR04-TM06-1996."

Cheetor nodded. Not everyone could translate stasis pod serial numbers but the string of digits gave him a picture of who Blackarachnia was intended to be. It seemed off but any differences could be easily explained by Tarantulas' tampering.

The Predacon picked up a fresh needle and smiled. "Your turn, kitty-cat."

Reluctantly, Cheetor extended his arm. It felt like Tarantulas was deliberately taking her time, probing at his arm and making him anticipate the sting of the needle. It might have been legitimate - it couldn't be easy to line up a needle on the thin lines under the skin, then stick it in far enough to pierce the line but not out the other side, and it was easier to see the lines under Airazor's light skin than Cheetor's dark - or it might have been in his mind, but he wouldn't put it past Tarantulas to play with him a bit first.

The needle finally bit. Cheetor managed not to squirm and knew he wouldn't have been able to stand it if Airazor wasn't there to bail him out if he needed it. He concentrated on the fact that the small needle couldn't possibly take enough fluid from him to cause harm.

When it was finished, Tarantulas held the vial up to the light, inspecting its contents. When she felt she'd dragged it on just long enough to be dramatic, she said, "I don't know Inferno's."

"What?" Cheetor demanded, rubbing the sore spot on his arm. "I let you drain me for _nothing_?"

"You did it for science," said Tarantulas happily. "Oh, don't blame _me_. I barely got a look at Inferno's pod before Inferno crawled out and started shooting at me. I had time to change the programming chip and nothing else. We tried to reprogram her later, of course, but there was nothing Megatron or I could do. If you had reached the pod first, you'd have a pyromaniac Maximal fire ant." Tarantulas shook her head. "I would have liked a better look at that pod. It was different from Blackarachnia's."

"Aren't all stasis pods the same?" asked Airazor.

The Predacon shrugged. "There seemed to be some extra equipment in it - a computer panel near the head."

Cheetor stopped rubbing his arm. "You're sure?"

"Mmhm ... hey!" Cheetor barely heard Tarantulas' indignant shout as he ran out of the lab.

Airazor caught up with him. "What's the hurry?"

"I know who Inferno was."

 

* * *

 

Quickstrike was where Airazor and Cheetor had left him, digging through the contents of his crate. He looked up when the cargo bay door opened. "Hey, boss."

Optimus crossed the room to him. "Is any of it familiar?"

The neophyte chuckled. "Not hardly. I dunno who packed this here box but I gotta admit I like his taste."

He had taken out the welding rigs and set them aside as not nearly as interesting as the pictures of various women of various species in various states of undress. Optimus focused on the rigs immediately, of course. "Are these yours?"

"Reckon so. They were in the crate."

"Good," said Optimus. "The signal array needs some repair. Let's find out if you've still got the skills that go with this equipment."

They collected up their gear from the command centre before climbing up on the roof of the _Axalon_. Quickstrike picked at one piece of equipment. "Whaddya need the strappy thing for?"

"Safety harness. I'd rather not fall."

Quickstrike looked up at the aerial. "Fallin' off that wouldn't be nothin'."

"I suppose that's not too bad a fall," said Optimus, catching Quickstrike's shoulder and turning him so he was looking down the chasm. " _That's_ a bad fall."

_Oh, right, the ravine._ "I reckon that's a bit of a way down."

At the base of the aerial Optimus unpacked the rest of the gear. "The problem is that the array was damaged in the storm. One of the spires was wrecked - we need to cut off the damaged piece and attach the new one."

Quickstrike nodded. "Sounds easy enough. Lemme at it."

He let Optimus hook up the safety harness with undisguised impatience but managed to hold still. That done, Quickstrike climbed the aerial. The action was easy. It was right, it made perfect sense to be climbing an aerial.

"You're too high up!" Optimus called. "The damaged section is below you!" Quickstrike glanced down to see where Optimus meant, shook the crossbar he was holding to test its strength, then hooked his legs over it and hung upside-down. He'd done it so quickly that Optimus didn't have a chance to tell him not to. "What are you doing?"

"I can see it better like this." It was that _right_ feeling again - of course he should be hanging upside-down to weld. _Not that I'm gonna tell the boss that. He'll just give me more of that nonsense robot-talk._

 

* * *

 

The trail lead Inferno back up the plateau. The ground was harder and the vegetation sparser on the climb but the unknown Maximal hadn't put any effort into covering their tracks. The Maximal's actions made sense - of course they would want to reach higher ground to get a lay of the land.

Then there was no more vegetation and no more cliff, just a rounded crest of rock. Inferno followed a few faint scuffs in the thin dirt and climbed that as well. Then she stopped because the land suddenly became a deep chasm. The land continued to rise upriver and there was forest on the higher elevations. And downriver, far below, was the _Axalon_. Inferno blinked in surprise - she hadn't realised how close she'd been led to the ship.

No more trail - the ground was bare rock. If she couldn't see the _Axalon_ , Inferno might have thought the Maximal could have gone upland to get a better view. Logically, a Maximal would head straight for the _Axalon_ once they knew where it was.

No sign of the Maximal, anyway. Inferno had a good view of the land from her vantage point and there weren't many places someone could hide, but she had no idea how far ahead they were. They could have reached the _Axalon_ while she was still out in the jungle. She crouched down and leaned over the edge, in case they had gone into the river - a fall a robot might survive if they managed to get out of the water and one that would be fatal to their current forms.

When she found no evidence of a fall, she stood up and activated her commlink. "Sentinel. Connect me to Megatron's quarters."

The computer did so but there was no answer. Then again, Megatron didn't spend all his time in his room. "Sentinel, where is Megatron?"

_"Predacon unit Megatron is not in the_ Axalon _."_ There was nothing for it but to return to the ship and wait.

Closer, Inferno could see activity around the ship - Optimus and Quickstrike were climbing around the scanning arrays on the roof while Scorponok was out around the back on the ground. He was waving at something in the air near him. Scorponok wasn't ideal but she had to report to someone.

There had been a shift change since she had left - the small cat had been replaced by the rat. "I have returned," Inferno announced from the lift. "Mark this."

She headed towards the corridor but the rat spoke: "Where've you been?"

"Hunting," said Inferno. "I told the cat this when I left."

"You don't usually come back empty-handed."

He sounded suspicious. Inferno wondered if he knew she'd found something, but how could he? She only found footprints, not a stasis pod - nothing that the _Axalon_ could detect even if it had been scanning her. "My prey was elusive."

"Your prey didn't happen to be an alien site, did it?" asked Rattrap. "'Cause it wouldn't be the first time you pulled that trick."

"No."

He made a sarcastic walking gesture with his fingers. "Megatron didn't send you out on a little errand?"

"No. I went hunting. I was unsuccessful." Then, because it occurred to her that she could ask, "Where is Megatron?"

Rattrap tilted his head, frowning. "You really _don't_ know, do you? Him and the widow stole the loader sled and went down to the wreckage of the Flying Island."

That was upsetting news that Inferno chewed over on her way back to Megatron's quarters, that he'd gone out into probable danger without bringing her along for protection or even letting her know he would be out. She dropped her weapon off in Megatron's quarters, then went the rest of the way down the ship and out the cargo bay door.

Now she could see what her nestmate was doing - Scorponok, wearing a gauntlet and a visor, was directing the movements of a cyberbee. The cyberbee landed beside Scorponok, and the technician turned, lifting his visor. "Back already, Inferno?"

She looked up - the Maximals seemed occupied on the roof and would not overhear. Inferno stood at attention but didn't salute. "I need to report but Megatron is not here."

"Yeah, the Maximals are complaining he snuck out," Scorponok agreed. "Report to me."

That was a bit better, knowing that Scorponok hadn't been informed of Megatron's plans either. "Have any new Maximals arrived?"

"Not since you found Quickstrike and Silverbolt," said Scorponok. "Why? Did you find a stasis pod?"

Inferno shook her head. "No. Boot tracks. Large, but they cannot be Megatron's. I lost the trail when the ground became too hard, but that was within sight of the _Axalon_. It seems strange that a Maximal would come so far, then turn away."

"Does it?" Scorponok asked. "They're changed like us. They're on a planet they don't know in a body they don't understand. They see the _Axalon_ but don't see any Maximals, just more aliens. What're they going to think?" He frowned, looking up briefly at Optimus. "Should we tell the Maximals this one? We don't need someone attacking us because they think we're aliens who did away with their crew."

"No," said Inferno firmly. "The Maximals already outnumber us. If this one dies of the elements, it will be one less of them and cannot be blamed on us."

"Megatron'll know what to do."

" _Quickstrike!_ " There was a whoop and a clatter above them. Quickstrike was suddenly partway down the side of the ship, hanging upside-down from a harness looped around his waist and thighs, laughing. Above him, looking down, was Optimus. "Are you all right?"

" _Hahahaha_ \- ow." Quickstrike scrabbled at the end of the line, trying to look up. "I'm fine, boss! Just got a little dizzy is all."

"Hold on! I'll haul you up!"

The dangling Maximal noticed the Predacons. "Howdy, 'Ferny! Don't usually get to see you from this angle!"

There was really no way for the Predacons to continue their discussion after that. Inferno nodded to Scorponok. "I will wait for Megatron's return."

 

* * *

 

Despite the inauspicious start to their mission and the fact that Waspinator rattled off non-stop commentary about how she was the best of all Predacons while she worked, Silverbolt found he was actually enjoying himself.

Granted, his life so far hadn't been much to enjoy so he knew his standards were low. He didn't know how to fix the towers so Waspinator was doing all the technical work, but she seemed happy to have him there to hand her tools and keep watch for any large wildlife that might find them edible. Not that she let him have her gun but at least he could keep watch and the thought of holding a gun felt strange, anyway. A handheld weapon should be melee, while distance weapons were better integrated with ... with ...

Static. Silverbolt shook his head, trying to clear the odd thoughts. He refocused, reminding himself that he was on guard duty. It wasn't much but Waspinator found him useful so it was enough.

Waspinator was up the third tower, prodding at the inner workings. Silverbolt wasn't entirely happy to let the woman risk herself in the climb but he had little choice - Waspinator knew how to reprogram the towers, he didn't.

She made an annoyed sound and Silverbolt looked up. "What do you need?"

"Panel," said Waspinator irritably. "Tower looks fine outside but is damaged inside. Waspinator not know how to fix it. Spider-bot can do it herself."

Silverbolt handed it up. "Shall we go on to the next tower?"

"Not right _now_. Waspinator has to replace panel first."

 

* * *

 

The door opened and Inferno loomed over him. Under other circumstances Cheetor would have been curious to get a peek at the renovations Megatron had done to his and Inferno's shared quarters but now he had other things on his mind. "Megatron is not in," rumbled the warrior.

"I know that," said Cheetor. "I wanted to see _you_. I need you to come with me. We've found your crate."

Inferno blinked at him. "My what?"

"Your luggage from Cybertron. What you packed when you signed up on the _Axalon_ ," Cheetor explained. "We found out which pod was yours so we finally know which crate belongs to you."

"I am not of your nest."

Cheetor tried to keep himself from bouncing with impatience. "You were before you were a Predacon. Anyway, it's yours so you should have it. At least come look." Inferno still didn't look impressed but at least she followed him to the cargo bay.

Airazor waved them over. "I've found the one you said it is, Cheetor. I hope you're right about this."

"Trust me." He looked back at the Predacon warrior. "Do you recognise it?"

Inferno was frowning at the crate, though whether it was suspicion of a Maximal trap or merely concentration, Cheetor couldn't tell. "No."

"It's yours," said Cheetor. "You used to be a Maximal."

Inferno nodded curtly without looking at him. "I am aware of that."

"But ... but doesn't it _bother_ you that you were reprogrammed?"

"No."

Cheetor opened the crate. Personal items again, though instead of pin-ups and posters, this one was full of xeno knickknacks and datadiscs. There were spare parts - delicate gyros and rotor pieces, the sort of things a helicopter wouldn't trust to just any manufacturing equipment. Inferno looked but made no move to touch the items. Cheetor picked a datadisc out, read the name on it, and sagged back against another crate. "Primus. Oh, Primus."

Airazor touched his arm. "What is it?"

"I knew that the control pod had our chief science officer in it," said Cheetor. "Under normal circumstances, that's the pod we would've retrieved first. But this disc's a journal, it's labelled ..." He handed it to Airazor. "Inferno is Spinwit."

"I am Inferno."

"Back up, Cheetor. Inferno's a _scientist_?"

Cheetor barely heard them. "You lived among the Aemiuph. You were the first that the Igi'thyn allowed contact. You deciphered the Lehua. You made the Kai Treaty possible. You're _Spinwit_."

The Predacon growled. "I am _Inferno_."

Cheetor sighed, defeated. "All right. You're Inferno. I'll take this stuff to Optimus. If there are any unpublished works in here, they'd be really valuable to -"

"No." Inferno picked up a small alien carving and carefully turned it over in her hands. "These things are mine. I will take them."

"But you're not Spinwit."

"No. But these things are mine."

Cheetor hesitated. Inferno - Inferno as she was now, Inferno the Predacon berserker - couldn't understand the full value of the crate's contents but the items were legally hers. "Do you want help bringing the crate to your quarters?"

Inferno looked up from the carving. "There is no room for it. Leave it here." She gathered up an armload of trinkets and left.

Cheetor sighed, replacing the datadisc and closing the crate. "Primus."

"It's ... I guess it's like Quickstrike and Silverbolt," said Airazor. "They'll smile and nod and accept that they're Maximals but without any memory of actually _being_ robots they don't feel like they're missing anything." She frowned. "Who was Spinwit?"

"He was a xenopologist," said Cheetor. "Spinwit studied alien cultures, only he got way too into it. If he stayed in one place too long he started to believe he was an alien. He was famous. I'm surprised you've never heard of him."

"Famous to you science-types, maybe," said Airazor.

"You wouldn't be on the _Axalon_ if you didn't have _some_ interest in it." Cheetor shook his head. "Trust me, you'd have heard of Spinwit. He was weird but he was smart and he'd been around a long time. Have a skim through the Axalon's archives on xenocultural studies - he wrote like a quarter of the articles. Then a little over a tenth-vorn ago he went native somewhere and nearly killed the 'bot who was sent to pick him up, so they hauled him back to Cybertron to try to debug him." He shrugged. "I guess they figured he was cured if they sent him with us."

Airazor made a derisive noise. "Then the Preds had to meddle and wreck it."

Cheetor looked over the remaining crates. "I guess that's it until Silverbolt or Blackarachnia get back. I gotta tell Optimus about Inferno."

"All right. I'm going to see if Tigatron's back yet."

 

* * *

 

Hungry, Quickstrike ducked into the xenobotany lab to grab a quick refuelling. He was instantly distracted by the fact that Tigatron and Airazor were already there.

He considered it Tigatron's most endearing trait that she tended to wear as little as possible, which was often no more than boots. Right now she was wearing as much as she ever did, which was still just a short top and trousers. She'd be taking them off soon enough.

She had a successful hunt - she and Airazor were cutting into some kind of critter. It gave Quickstrike an excuse to chat to her. He walked over and laid a hand on Tigatron's shoulder, part congratulatory, part friendly, mostly just because he wanted to touch her. "What'cha got here, stripes?"

"Bushpig," said Tigatron. "A young one - I would have had trouble carrying an adult all the way back by myself."

Quickstrike let his hand slip down to Tigatron's bicep, and gave an appreciative squeeze. "I bet you could've."

That got a chuckle. "I know my limits. Enjoy your time not knowing yours."

She smelled of blood and sweat and that warm scent he knew as female. Emboldened by the acceptance of his touch on her arm, Quickstrike let his hand trail down to rest on the small of her back. Unfortunately, this brought a warning growl and he suddenly found himself pinned face-down on the table with the offending arm twisted behind his back. "What in tarnation ..."

"Looking is fine," said Airazor, right by his ear. "Look all you like. But you don't get to touch."

He was strong enough that he could have thrown Airazor off but he was too surprised to do anything but agree. "Yes, ma'am."

Airazor let him up. Quickstrike took a step back to try to figure out what went wrong. Tigatron was plainly irritated with him - well, all right, he'd moved too fast. It was Airazor who was confusing him. Even now her stance was somewhere between protective and possessive, the body-language equivalent of _back off, varmint - she's mine_.

It suddenly clicked in. "Y'know, if'n I had to guess, I'd have said you were with Cheetor," he said, addressing Airazor. Then to both, "Never occurred to me that a couple of gals could be together." And because the world was suddenly full of previously unconsidered possibilities, he grinned. "Any way I can get in the middle of that?"

Tigatron growled. "No."

"None," said Airazor flatly but her mouth turned up slightly at one corner.

"Well, if'n you ever change your minds, you know where I ... aw, _tarnation_."

"What's wrong?" Airazor asked.

"Nothin' bad about you, sugar." Nothing but that if a woman could be attracted to another woman, a man might be attracted to another man. _Dagnabbit, Terrorsaur was flirtin' with me!_

 

* * *

 

Dinobot inspected the door to his quarters, considered his options, and to his irritation realised that the person whose skillset best met his requirements was Rattrap. Paging the Maximal's room got no answer. A general page got a response - Rattrap was in the command centre and couldn't come down because he was on monitor duty. That Rattrap had been allowed back on active duty and Dinobot had not didn't help the warrior's mood any.

He stomped into the command centre. "Vermin, you ... What _is_ that you're wearing?"

"Poncho," said Rattrap with a shrug. He was kneeling on a chair - with his damages it would have been uncomfortable to sit normally. "Enh, so I felt naked without my clothes."

"Without a place to hide weapons," Dinobot corrected. "You look like you skinned your robot-mode. What are you doing on monitor duty?"

"Monitorin'. Why, you miss sittin' around and lookin' at scanners?"

"If _I_ have been taken off-duty while my injuries heal, _you_ should be off-duty longer." It was bad enough to have slept the morning away, it was worse to find that Rattrap was showing him up.

" _I_ only asked for monitor duty," said Rattrap archly. " _You_ , if allowed on active duty, would immediately run off into the jungle and wrestle a sabretooth. _I_ know how to pace myself." He spun his chair once. "Need anything monitored?"

Dinobot shook his head. "No. I require assistance in a technical matter."

"And you can't ask Rhinox because ..?"

"Unfortunately, your particular skillset is more suited to the problem," said Dinobot, drawing a chair to the central workstation.

"So you're just gonna hang around until my shift ends?"

Dinobot settled into the chair, activating a screen full of text. "Apparently I'm not allowed to do anything else."

 

* * *

 

Waspinator closed the access panel with a satisfied hum. "There! Work is done! Waspinator is the best Predacon!"

Silverbolt carefully packed the tools away. "This is the last one?"

"Last one in this direction. Last one Waspinator feels like doing." She tossed down the rest of her tools and scrambled down the tower.

Silverbolt finished packing, then stepped up on the hoverpad behind Waspinator. He thought learning to fly the contraption would be useful but didn't think Waspinator was the person to ask for lessons. He would ask Rattrap or Dinobot about it later.

It would be a while getting back, Waspinator actually seemed at least somewhat comfortable with him, and he was curious. "I know so little of any of you. May I inquire as to who you are?"

"Bzt? Waspinator is Waspinator. Silver-bot knows that."

"No, I mean _who_ you are. Where you are from, why you are on this mission, where you would be if we were not stranded," he explained.

"Waspinator is the best Predacon," said Waspinator primly. "That is all silver-bot needs to know."

"What of your friend? Terrorsaur?"

Waspinator considered that. "Terror-bot is sometimes second-best Predacon. Unless Waspinator is mad at him. Then terror-bot is stupid."

It was apparent that he wouldn't be getting much information from Waspinator, but he tried one more. "What of Blackarachnia?

"Bleagh. Spider-bot is bossy. Always bosses Waspinator around." Waspinator sighed. " _Everyone_ bosses Waspinator around. Poor Waspinator."

 

* * *

 

" _'Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York; and all the clouds that lowered upon our house in the deep bosom of the ocean buried.'_ "

Rattrap huffed quietly, picking at the weather scanner controls. _Dinobutt's talking to himself._

" _'Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, our bruised arms hung up for monuments, our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, our dreadful marches to delightful measures.'_ "

The Maximal frowned. Dinobot was talking quietly to himself but he wasn't mumbling. He was speaking clearly but he wasn't speaking any Cybertronian language.

" _'Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front, and now, instead of mounting barbed steeds to fright the souls of fearful adversaries, he capers nimbly in a lady's chamber to the lascivious pleasing of a lute.'_ "

Rattrap swivelled his chair. "Chopperface, what _are_ you babbling about?"

" _'But I, that am not ...'_ " Dinobot caught himself and looked up from the central table. "I've never been able to read it properly before," he said in a tone of voice that Rattrap associated with Rhinox when he made a discovery and _had_ to tell someone about it. "I usually read the translations. Trying to read it in the original language doesn't work with the Cybertronian vocal apparatus - the language is too simple for it. But with these organic bodies ... this is the way it's _supposed_ to sound. Listen: _'But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty ...'_ "

"Wait!" Rattrap yelled, trying to staunch the unintelligible prattle. "What the Pit are you talking about?"

"Spearshaker's plays. He was a xeno warrior-poet."

"That fancy stuff you're always quoting?" It was easy to tell when the words weren't Dinobot's - he switched to what Rattrap thought of as his Drama Voice.

The warrior looked offended. "Yes. That 'fancy stuff' I'm always quoting."

Rattrap shook his head. "Why? Nothin' on Cybertron good enough for you? 'Cause I know between Optimus and Rhinox, they got almost every high classic ever written. I swear the _Axalon's_ got the most boring library in the history of colonisation."

Dinobot turned back to the screen, ignoring the question. "This story is about a warrior lord - it is his words I was reading. His territory recently won a war. However, he feels he cannot live a peaceful life because he is physically malformed. At least, that is his excuse for his ambitions. If one takes the previous tale into account, you know that he ..."

"Can't he just get a new body?" Rattrap interrupted.

Dinobot looked irritated. "Can _you_?" When there was no answer to that, he continued: " _'I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, cheated of feature by dissembling nature, deformed, unfinished, sent before my time into this breathing world scarce half made up, and that so lamely and unfashionable that dogs bark at me as I halt by them ... '_ "

"What's that mean?" If he couldn't stop Dinobot he might as well know what he was talking about.

"He speaks of his appearance," said Dinobot. "Others treat him unfavourably because he is unappealing to look on. He claims he appears incomplete, like a protoform that didn't finish compiling before solidification." He continued: " _'Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, have no delight to pass away the time, unless to spy my shadow in the sun and descant on mine own deformity ...'_ " Dinobot trailed off, briefly lost in some inner space or just being dramatic, but his voice recovered and gained strength: " _'And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain and hate the idle pleasures of these days ...'_ "

"What does that -"

"'Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, by drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams.'" The words were Cybertronix, spoken by a much deeper voice. Dinobot's head snapped up so fast it must have hurt. Megatron stood in the lift, sweat-soaked, stinking of lava, and scowling. Rattrap cursed himself for letting himself be distracted - he should have seen the loader sled return. Worse, Megatron had a gun clipped to his belt. Rattrap went on to curse Cheetor, the truce, and his own lack of armour. "Don't speak the words if you don't mean them, Dinobot," Megatron rumbled.

"I am only quoting," the warrior said stiffly.

"You waste your voice on the rat."

Dinobot stood and walked around the central table, slowly, visibly holding himself back. "I will read when I please _to_ whomever I please for _whatever_ reason I please."

Megatron slipped the satchel off his shoulder, came two steps out of the lift, and laughed - a short, vicious sound. "How little you must think I think of you! I only meant that he wouldn't understand." Rattrap carefully slipped one hand under his poncho to reach the gun he had hidden there.

"You are no part of this," Dinobot hissed. "Begone."

They were within striking distance of each other now, fists clenched, muscles tensed to attack, breathing laboured like they'd already been fighting. Megatron didn't seem to remember he was armed, too angry for weapons. Rattrap had his own gun in hand now, still hidden, and he could shoot faster than Megatron could draw. He'd get in trouble if he fired but better that than let Dinobot get killed. _Maybe I can defuse this with a little charm, or just annoy and distract 'em ..._

Megatron spoke before Rattrap could: "'You know no rules of charity, which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.'" The words were ground out between clenched teeth. Another quote, Rattrap was certain. It didn't sound like typical Megatron.

Dinobot growled, not dropping his attack posture. "'Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt.'"

_They're fightin' with_ quotes _? Cheese, Preds can weaponise_ anything _._ Rattrap kept his gun ready anyway.

Megatron took a step forward, now so close to Dinobot they were almost touching, looming over the warrior and forcing him to look up. "'Teach not thy lip such scorn.'"

"'My charity is outrage,'" Dinobot snarled, refusing to give ground. "'But repetition of what thou hast marred: That I will make before I let thee go.'"

Megatron's voice went very quiet: "'Wert thou not banished on pain of death?'"

"'I was; but I ...'" Dinobot's mouth snapped shut, as if he'd said too much, and he took a step back, no longer battle-ready but defensive. Megatron smiled.

Rattrap didn't understand the argument but two things were plain to him: one, Megatron sparred for keeps; two, Dinobot was losing. "Yeah, well, maybe I was enjoying it."

It was the most pathetic come-back he'd ever made in his life. Somehow it was also the most effective. Megatron recoiled like he'd been punched. He gave Rattrap a killing look before turning back to Dinobot. "Shore?" he accused.

Dinobot rallied himself. "Blunt."

None of it made any sense to Rattrap. Megatron gave a little you-think-highly-of-yourself huff, collected his satchel, and vanished down the lift - before Rattrap could demand the Predacon return the gun. The other Predacons had weapons, which was bad enough, but Rattrap _really_ didn't like the idea of Megatron with one. Dinobot murmured to himself in the alien language: " _'I was; but I do find more pain in banishment than death can yield me ...'_ "

Rattrap readjusted his poncho and tried to arrange himself more comfortably on his chair. "What the slag was that all about?"

Dinobot dragged his gaze away from the lift. "Nothing of your concern. Did you mean what you said?"

"You kidding? I don't wanna listen to your fancy alien words. I just said it to bug Megatron."

"Hnn. Too bad, vermin." Dinobot took his seat at the table and picked up where he'd left off. " _'Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, by drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, to set my brother Clarence and the king in deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just as I am subtle, false, and treacherous ...'_ " He had dropped the pretense of speaking to himself, using full Drama Voice.

Rattrap groaned and turned back to the monitor. _Great, he's found a new way to be annoying. How do I ... ah-ha!_ "There once," he said clearly, "was a jet from Khelekrax, who spent all her credit on hot wax -"

"... What?"

"If you're gonna recite at me, I'm gonna recite right back."

 


	4. Chapter 4

_You're too subtle for the Maximals, Dinobot,_ thought Megatron irritably, gathering up his clothing from the anteroom of the showers. He hadn't even tried to wash the lava smell out of his clothes - those he would throw away. Blackarachnia was already gone and she'd had enough sense not to ask what had distracted Megatron from coming straight to the showers or what had ruined his mood. _Oh, yes, Dinobot, of course you can read your stories with the right voice now - the writer was human, as we are. If you want to pass that knowledge along to the Maximals, simply_ tell _them without games._

_Or ... is it that you're still Predacon enough that you can't bring yourself to be open with the Maximals?_ The thought cheered him. _After all, that little speech might have particular meaning to a warbuild in a 'weak piping time of peace' ... What do you fear? Your conscience hath gained a thousand several tongues but only_ I _speak your language._

He stepped into the corridor and found Optimus waiting for him. "Megatron."

"Optimus Primal." Rattrap must have alerted him to Megatron's return. _Or Primal simply has the habit of appearing when I least desire to deal with him. I suppose this can't possibly wait until I don't have a headache._

"Where have you been?"

Megatron shifted his clothing bundle to his right hand - careful to keep the bruise on his chest hidden, no need for Optimus to ask questions - to make a vague gesture with his left. "Out and about. Down to the wreckage of the Flying Island. We brought back a small rock with a trap glyph carved into it. We left it outside, of course, at some distance. There's a theory we wished to test. And there were a few things I wanted to pick up from my base." All true.

Optimus folded his arms. "Pick up from and drop off to. Did you find another one of those alien spheres?"

_So they guessed. No matter._ The Maximals could too easily go to the crashed island themselves and check his story if he lied about that. "I did. It still had a flicker of power in it. I thought it safer to leave it at my base than bring it here, at least until I have a better idea of the purpose of the spheres." He had carefully suspended it in a forcefield so that it would touch no metal surface. He had - perhaps irrational - visions of the device rooting in the ship and transmuting it into a new alien site. He was more comfortable leaving it in the structure that he didn't sleep in. Cameras had been set up as well. He would tell the Maximals about those if they noticed that his base was now sending data to the _Axalon_ so that he could keep watch on it. He rummaged in his satchel and handed Optimus a datadisc. "Really, I went to my base with the best of intentions. This is our ship's scan data of the warship that chased us, whatever you want it for."

"Thanks." The Maximal pocketed the disc and left. Apparently he wasn't going to say why he wanted it. Megatron made a note of that - Optimus was usually more open with information and the scan data was an odd thing to request.

Megatron continued to his quarters. He needed to recuperate from his time in the Predacon base. He wished his bath was finished - the structure was there but the plumbing was incomplete. He would have to make do with just a rest ...

Entering his quarters he nearly stepped on a small object but a hand flashed out and snatched it from harm's way. "Inferno?" The warrior rarely returned to the room during the day, not unless she was following him. Now she was sitting cross-legged on her sleeping mat, surrounded by a scatter of odd carvings and trinkets. "What is all this?"

"I don't know," said Inferno. "They are mine."

"Where did they come from?"

"The cargo bay, in a crate belonging to a Maximal." She picked up a small beaded strap, letting it dangle between her fingers. "The small cat told me that I was that Maximal."

Megatron scowled. _I knew it. I knew the Maximals would try to deprogram my hard-won Predacons._ Inferno was high-maintenance and often maddening but she was _his_. He growled, "Are you?"

She met his eyes and matched his glare. "I am _Inferno_."

The sheer vehemence of the denial set Megatron at ease - whatever else was going on in her mind, Inferno was a Predacon. "Then get rid of this stuff." Whatever it was. The trinkets didn't look Maximal or even Cybertronian.

"No." Not angry now, just stating a fact.

That was rather more surprising. Megatron emptied his pockets of a few more datadiscs and held out the bundle of lava-damaged cloth. "Stop playing and dispose of these."

Inferno swept her trinkets into a pile on her mat and stood. "At once, Megatron." She accepted the bundle, then hissed sharply. "You're injured."

"It's only a bruise. Attend to your duty." Inferno obviously wanted to say more but she obediently left.

So, Inferno would still do his bidding, just not where her Maximal knickknacks were concerned. Megatron settled into his chair with a regretful glance at his tub. He dimmed the lights, altered the environmental controls to increase the oxygen levels, and closed his eyes, trying to will his head to stop aching.

 

* * *

 

Blackarachnia had seemed incredulous at first, not that the Maximals wanted to give her something, but more an, _of course, if my prior life was here - why didn't_ I _think of finding my luggage?_ Unlike the others, she did know her pod's serial number.

"Thing is, with protoform serial numbers, it just means the protoform," said Cheetor, because Blackarachnia actually seemed interested. "Just the body, I mean, not the spark in it. You can't put a serial number on a spark. But the serial number tells you what kind of protoform it is."

Behind him, Airazor made a quiet derisive noise. Cheetor glanced over at her. _Okay, so I'm showing off a bit. It's not like I'm telling Blackarachnia anything classified and you never know - maybe if she's interested in her origins it's a chance she might be interested in being a Maximal again._

"The number means more than just the order it rolled out of the factory?" asked Blackarachnia.

Cheetor shrugged, fiddling with the lock. "Most people don't know how to read them 'cause it doesn't affect them but it's a skill you pick up if you live on a colony. It doesn't really say much, just Maximal protoform, smallish, tech-type, created in the Sonic Canyons over half a vorn ago. So you've got an age and a home state now, even if you don't remember." He opened the crate. "Any of this look like yours?"

Blackarachnia picked through the parts, frowning. "I don't think it ever could have been - this stuff all looks like ship material. Like scrap and cut-offs from when they were making the _Axalon_. I'll take it, though. I can find a use for this stuff."

 

* * *

 

She had reported the footprints in the jungle, then Megatron told her to go be somewhere else. Without more specific instructions, Inferno found herself outside the _Axalon_. There was no one in sight, which suited her - ever since that crate had been opened it seemed everyone thought she would suddenly side with the Maximals and the questioning was wearing on her already limited temper.

"Hey! Sugar!"

Following the voice, Inferno walked to the edge of the ravine and looked down. Quickstrike was five metres below the _Axalon_ , suspended by his harness. He had managed to balance himself so that instead of hanging upside-down, he seemed to be lying on the air with his hands folded on his midsection. He was three metres out - too far to reach the line. "Did you fall again?"

The Maximal pulled himself to something like a sitting position, though the movement made the line twist and he had to keep turning his head to look at her. "Nah, I just felt like bein' down here. I wanted to see what the rest of the ship looked like."

It was behaviour to be expected from one of the spiders but she could expect nothing from Quickstrike. Between his newness and scrambled programming, he was unpredictable. "It could be seen from here."

Quickstrike shrugged. "Sometimes you just gotta do what feels right. Though I guess I can't hang around down here all day."

He tried to climb the line but was unable to keep a grip while he had all his weight on it and couldn't use his legs. "Consarn it, the dang cable's too slick. Shoulda tied knots in it or somethin'. 'Ferny, I hate to ask a favour, but you mind goin' topside and pullin' me up?"

Inferno considered refusing but Megatron's general order was to aid the Maximals if they asked, so she went back up the lift. Tigatron and Airazor - only one was on monitor duty but Inferno didn't know which - gave Inferno a distrustful look but didn't stop her from climbing up and out the roof hatch.

On top of the _Axalon_ , Inferno found the line Quickstrike was attached to. She braced her foot on the hood of an autogun emplacement and pulled the line in, looping it around her hand on each haul so that it wouldn't slip through her fingers. She could tell when Quickstrike had reached the side of the ship - the pull became easier as he got his feet on the hull and helped climb it. After a few minutes the Maximal was up on the neck of the ship. Inferno stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar and harness, and deposited him a safe distance from the edge of the ship.

Quickstrike stood, unclipping the harness, and glanced back at the chasm. "Tarnation. Even the boss hadda strain a little - you just hauled me up here like I didn't weigh nothin'."

"You don't."

The Maximal looked up at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, then shook his head and sighed. "You're too good to be true. You sure you wanna stick with Megatron?"

Inferno narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists, only just refraining from pushing the noisy little drone into the ravine. "I tire of being told that I should be a Maximal."

"What?" He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy, sugar, easy. No difference to me if you're Maximal or Predacon. Why should anyone else care?"

"I was originally a Maximal," rumbled Inferno. "They think I should be one again. They try to tell me that who I was is more important than who I am."

Quickstrike laughed, clapping her on the back. "Tell me about it. They all act like my amnesia's this horrible thing and I can't convince 'em that I don't feel any loss. Maybe my life was good before, but '" the hand on her back moved so that Quickstrike's arm was around her waist, "' I gotta say it seems pretty good right now."

 

* * *

 

Rattrap let himself be led down to Dinobot's quarters, toolbox and a new lock out of storage in hand. Dinobot seemed to have wasted no time setting up what had been a secondary cargo bay into his own little Predacon pad. A familiar patch of brown on the wall caught his attention, then gave him a visceral jolt as he realised what he was looking at - Dinobot had kept the skin of his clone pinned to the wall as a trophy. _And I might have a crate of Waspinator parts - that I am_ not _going to mention while we got Predacon houseguests - but keepin' the beast-skin of your own clone is too morbid even for me._

Glad he had a purpose he could focus on instead of the decor, Rattrap turned back to the door and tapped the lock. "What's wrong with this one?"

"The base is full of Predacons," said Dinobot. "Upgrading the lock seems only prudent. I can install it - I only wanted your choice of the best one." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I assumed a sneak like you would know."

"I'll do it. You'd probably put it in upside-down or somethin'." Rattrap turned to set down and root through the toolbox. "Sounds sensible," he said, selecting a small plasma torch. "I'd buy it if I hadn't seen you and Megs fightin'. He's got you spooked."

Dinobot's shadow loomed over him. "That is none of your business."

Rattrap ignored the looming to start cutting out the old panel. "Funny. He seemed to think it was. Smelted if I know why."

"I convinced him otherwise."

"What _was_ it about, then?"

Silence. Rattrap could feel the glare on the back of his neck. He shut off the cutting torch and turned to face the warrior. "Look, if Megatron was threatening you ..."

Dinobot made a derisive noise. "I do not need _Maximal_ protection."

"Just a Maximal lock," Rattrap taunted. "Oh, slag ... Was he trying to convince you that you have to pay him off for patchin' me up? 'Cause I'll handle that myself." _By tellin' Megs to shove it up his exhaust._

"That did not come up." Dinobot looked away. "I _do_ owe you."

He sounded miserable enough that Rattrap couldn't tease him. "You sat up with me that first night. You didn't have to. You and me, we're even. Okay?"

Dinobot didn't look convinced. "Keeping vigil was nothing."

_Sigh. You try to be nice to a 'bot ..._ "So you gotta save my life some day," said Rattrap, returning to his task. "Big deal."

 

* * *

 

Waspinator found Terrorsaur in his quarters, stretched out on the berth and propped up on one elbow to read a datapad. She grabbed him by his free hand to pull him up. "Waspinator is bored again! Come on!"

Terrorsaur swatted her away. "I can't put weight on one foot. Don't grab me."

_Predacons should never have split up! Waspinator not with terror-bot for a few megacycles and terror-bot gets hurt!_ "What happened?"

He sighed and sprawled back onto the berth to hold up one bare foot for inspection. "Oh, nothing. I'm probably just broken forever. Tarantulas says it's just a sprain but I don't believe her."

To Waspinator's view, she couldn't see anything wrong with her partner. His left foot looked slightly thicker than his right and it was bruised but it was still there and wasn't leaking or burnt or anything. Though internal damages weren't unknown and these soft bodies were frighteningly weak ... Waspinator scowled. "Bird-bot."

"Didn't do it for once," Terrorsaur interrupted, lowering his foot. "I slipped and fell off the jamming tower and landed badly. The _first_ one, so I barely got anything done before I had to come back. Did you finish yours?"

"Did three. Found another but it was too broken for Waspinator to fix. If spider-bot not like Waspinator's work, spider-bot can go do it herself," said Waspinator, sitting on the berth.

"Ow! Careful! I'm damaged here!"

Waspinator stood quickly. "Waspinator was nowhere near terror-bot's foot."

"You nudged my leg which jostled my foot." He jabbed a finger at her. "You're banned from my berth until I'm repaired!"

Which seemed most unfair, but Waspinator flopped down to sit on the floor beside the berth instead. Terrorsaur rolled to his side - rather carefully, Waspinator admitted - so he could still see her, so that was an acceptance of continued company. He pillowed his head on his arm. "Your Maximal any help?"

"Silver-bot held toolbox for Waspinator. Was strange," Waspinator mused. "Waspinator not used to being around a Maximal who doesn't want to hurt her."

"He barely knows he's a Maximal. That's all."

"Seems nice."

Terrorsaur reached out and flicked her in the side of the head. "You remember what happened to you last time you thought a Maximal seemed nice?"

Waspinator made a razzing noise and swatted his hand. "And which one of us kept teaming up with Maximals and then getting backstabbed by Maximals?"

"Look, that was _only_ three times and it was never because they 'seemed nice'."

"Teaming up with Maximals because they seemed mean is even worse plan."

 

* * *

 

"... in Silverbolt's crate. Maybe someone goofed when they were labelling them."

Rhinox found Optimus and Cheetor in the usual patch of green - a small hollow a short walk from the cargo entrance of the _Axalon_ where enough soil was blown in and enough water trapped to create a tiny park. It was a usual hangout of the Maximals when they wanted a break from the base but didn't want to stray too far from it. Now Optimus was sitting under a small tree, with Cheetor stretched out along one of its branches. Optimus glanced up from his datapad. "Hey. It turns out Blackarachnia and Silverbolt lost their luggage, too."

"Should we check the rest of the crates?" asked Rhinox, settling down on the grass.

"I think so," said Optimus. "It's a breach of privacy but this is strange enough that I think we'd be forgiven a quick look to see if the pattern holds."

"It could have just been a mistake," said Cheetor.

Optimus' face clouded. "I'm ... Maybe I'm just feeling paranoid, but ... The things Dinobot found in Airazor's wall. They aren't Crossbolt's."

The engineer frowned. "Are you sure? I'm certain I recognised the rifle."

" _That_ was his," Optimus agreed. "Which makes the entertainment datadiscs in the boxes odd. I know his tastes - there were maybe two movies in there he might have watched. The rest were things I'm sure he had no interest in."

"Maybe he had interests you didn't know about," said Rhinox.

"Maybe, but given what we keep finding in the crates, it's starting to feel like the boxes were filled with random discs just to make them feel right if someone picked them up. For our crew in stasis, maybe it was a mistake in shipping manifests, that we ended up with a load of scrap instead of their luggage, but Crossbolt was part of the core crew. He would have packed it himself." Optimus shook his head. "Another thing - Megatron got me the scan data. No good. Jamming fields."

Cheetor looked curious but apparently Optimus didn't want him involved so Rhinox just nodded.

The scout propped himself up on his arms, or as well as he could while lying along a branch. "We found Quickstrike's and Inferno's luggage, though. Quickstrike wasn't anyone I recognised - his name used to be 'Quickdraw' so maybe he's still got some of his memories - but you'll never guess who Inferno was." Cheetor didn't give Rhinox a chance. "Spinwit."

"No." Disbelief more than denial - it seemed impossible that the Predacon berserker had ever been an experienced scientist.

"I know it sounds weird but Tarantulas identified the control pod - though she didn't know what it was - and the stuff in the crate all had Spinwit's name on it." Cheetor frowned. "Someone like that gets kidnapped by Preds and scans a beast-mode? You're going to end up with someone who believes they're a Predacon animal."

"Apparently he was cleared for service again," said Optimus. "Either his repairs were insufficient or the Predacon reprogramming set him back. His name wasn't on the roster, but he might have changed it if his repairs changed him enough that he felt he needed a new one."

"Yeah, the roster says our chief science officer was named 'Ikard'," said Cheetor. "That's no name for a helicopter unless Spinwit changed so much he went aquatic."

Rhinox rubbed his chin, ruffling the fur there. "Speaking of programming ... as far as I can tell, the change only affected our bodies, not our minds. I would think that after eleven days at least some of us should be exhibiting symptoms of monoform psychosis. I'm glad no one is, I just don't know _why_ not."

"Tigatron got us to delete our programming blocks," said Cheetor.

"That doesn't explain the Predacons, unless they did it as well. I'll have to remember to ask Megatron about that," said Optimus. "Could it be that these forms simply aren't _meant_ to transform and so we're fine with it because it's right for these bodies? Or ... well, what mode _are_ we in now? Robot or beast?"

Rhinox frowned. "You know, I haven't been able to decide that. I could argue it both ways. We're not caught between modes, just ..."

"Just sort of both at the same time," Optimus finished. "That could be why we're not as twitchy about transforming as we otherwise would be. We're enough like both sides to feel like we can access both modes."

"What, like we're robots on the outside and animals on the inside? Or robots on the inside but animals on the outside?" asked Cheetor. He looked over at Rhinox. "Like how you won't eat meat if you can help it? But cheetahs are carnivores and I eat plants."

Optimus reached up and prodded a swinging arm. "You still sleep like a cat, though. I suppose it manifests in different ways for each of us. Besides, few of us had more than one or two traits adopted from our beast-modes. Inferno was the only one really affected by it. Maybe Tigatron to a lesser degree."

"Well ... everybody's been having nightmares," said Cheetor. "Almost everybody - I haven't. It was kind of freaky the first time I dreamed I was in this body instead of being a robot but that wasn't actually _scary_. But I know Airazor and Tigatron have."

Rhinox and Optimus exchanged glances, then Rhinox shrugged. "I haven't had anything I'd count as a nightmare." Unwanted dreams but nothing frightening.

"I haven't been sleeping well but I'm pretty sure that's just general stress," said Optimus. "Silverbolt had a nightmare last night. He asked me about it. He said Blackarachnia was having them as well."

Cheetor blinked. "When was 'Bolt chatting to the widow?"

"He just ran into her in the corridor last night, after his nightmare woke him up," said Optimus. "I'm more surprised she admitted it."

_And Rattrap,_ Rhinox thought, though after the explosion he'd have been surprised if Rattrap didn't have nightmares. Last night Rattrap had claimed that he was fine and didn't need company this time and Rhinox had woken up to find his friend had slipped into his room and curled up beside him, shaking. Brushes with death were nothing new to Rattrap, it was the thought of dying in this strange flesh body that had affected him so deeply. But that was something his friend wouldn't want him to tell.

"Terrorsaur, too," said Cheetor. "I've heard him a few mornings."

"According to Dinobot, Terrorsaur's always been like that ..." said Optimus.

Rhinox caught the pause. "What's wrong?"

Optimus shook his head. "Terrorsaur. I was talking to him briefly earlier. It's just ... did you ever think we'd be getting to _know_ Predacons like this? Eleven days ago, Terrorsaur was just a laughing shot in the back, a target to shoot out of the sky before he did the same to me. But now he's someone who knows his way around classical literature and has never slept well. And they're all like that. Little things slip, little reminders that these are people with their own lives and their own thoughts, not just laser delivery systems." He slumped forward to lean his elbows on drawn-up knees. "Do you think they're making the same realisations, or even care? If we went back to fighting, would Terrorsaur hesitate to shoot me because he's not seeing an enemy but someone who reads classics for fun?"

"Dinobot knew them and he never hesitated," said Rhinox. _Though that might be why, if the Predacons were his friends and he felt betrayed by them._

"Dinobot is a soldier," Optimus said. "We're not and the more I see of them the more I think the other Predacons aren't either."

"But Megatron's still totally bad, right?" Cheetor asked hopefully.

Optimus slumped further into his slouch. "Megatron plays with bath toys." He sighed. "Terrorsaur used to live with someone he hated, someone who did xenobotany as a hobby and pretended to be well-read but wasn't. I don't think Terrorsaur had much freedom but he did have access to Great War era writings - such easy access that he didn't think it was unusual. But he doesn't care about history, he didn't understand the old stories, he just reads anything he can get his hands on."

Cheetor reached down to try to touch Optimus but he had slouched too low. "Are you okay, big bot? Terrorsaur really messed you up, huh?"

"No, it's just ... Suddenly I know more about _Terrorsaur's_ past than I do about half of my own crew's. Tigatron, Silverbolt, and Quickstrike are amnesiac, Blackarachnia was reprogrammed, and Dinobot never talks about it." Optimus ran his hands through his hair. "Does Dinobot talk to Rattrap?"

Four days ago, Rhinox wouldn't have thought so. Even now he couldn't picture the warrior opening up to anybody, but if Dinobot could show as much vulnerability as he did to Rhinox in admitting he cared about Rattrap, maybe Dinobot showed more to Rattrap. "If he does, Rattrap keeps it private."

Cheetor frowned. "Aside from Terrorsaur, everybody having nightmares came out of a stasis pod. What about Quickstrike and Inferno?"

"I don't think either of them would admit it if they were," said Optimus, uncurling to lean back against the tree again.

"And I don't see the other Predacons sharing that sort of information, either," said Rhinox. "But all in all, it's not the same as when we were locked in beast-mode. General stresses of the change and that our dreams seem more vivid overall could be making people more nightmare-prone but the inability to transform doesn't seem to be a factor."

 

* * *

 

Sentinel woke Dinobot at the start of the sixth shift. He forced himself to get up. Optimus wanted to do a funeral for the two dead Maximals and wanted to do it at a time no Predacon was likely to interrupt. That meant four hours before sunrise. Since Dinobot lived on the Predacon schedule it meant he'd only had four hours sleep but he could always go back to bed for a few hours afterward.

There was light where there wasn't supposed to be light - Dinobot's computer was open when he knew he'd left it closed. Three lines were typed on the screen:

**Let me put in your minds, if you forget,**  
**What you have been ere now, and what you are;**  
**Withal, what I have been, and what I am.**

Dinobot scowled. _The new lock was worthless._

He dressed quickly, then made his way up to and through the cargo bay to join the Maximals outside. The command centre would be empty for the duration but Optimus locked the doors and declared it an acceptable risk.

Dinobot was the last to arrive - the Maximals had already set everything up. There were the remains of Crossbolt's shell, there was a box that contained what was left of the unknown Maximal whose pod had exploded in the wasteland, there was a loader drone because their own strength was insufficient. And there was the odd tripod and control panel of the pyre. _So this is a Maximal funeral. Hnn._ Predacons recycled. To Dinobot, the pyre was a waste of energy and material. He said nothing - a funeral was not the time for a cultural argument.

He stayed away from the group, close enough to be visible, far enough away that no one would speak to him. He did want to give proper respect to his living comrades who mourned their dead, it was part of his Maximal duties to be there ... but previous Predacon duties had involved Maximals dead by his hands. Dinobot felt his presence was inappropriate at a Maximal funeral. None of the Maximals seemed to mind - the few looks his way were simple acknowledgement rather than resentment.

Optimus tried to talk about the unknown Maximal but he had nothing of substance to say. They couldn't even recover the Maximal's serial number, for all that would have told them. Silverbolt stepped in and did a slightly better job of it, using words like 'brother' while Quickstrike looked uncomfortable. _Why do they try? Why not just admit that they don't know anything about this person? He did nothing noble, he merely died. In fact, worse that he did - the explosion damaged Quickstrike and Silverbolt's pods and ruined their datatracks._

The pyre flared and the box disintegrated, then Rhinox used the loader drone to hoist Crossbolt's body into the flame.

Most of the Maximals looked properly solemn and respectful. Cheetor was trying but he was fidgety by nature and couldn't hold still. Quickstrike wasn't even pretending to pay attention by this point, instead watching Airazor and Tigatron. Rattrap had slipped over to Rhinox and draped one of the engineer's arms around himself - no doubt he would claim he was merely cold if asked, he was still wearing nothing more than boots and that ridiculous poncho - and was glaring at the corpse. Given that the body shell had nearly killed Rattrap and his life was saved by Predacons, Dinobot could understand why he was upset. Rattrap noticed him watching and made a rude gesture.

Optimus didn't talk long, either out of Maximal custom or because he felt he said everything that was needed to say.

When it was done, the Maximals talked amongst themselves briefly, hands on Optimus' shoulders and arms, Maximal consolation, then went back inside. Most of them - Optimus hung back. "The others will not assist you in taking down the pyre?" Dinobot asked.

"We'll put it away later. Right now I just want to think things over." Optimus leaned back against the control panel. "This isn't the Predacon way, is it?"

"No."

"Thanks for coming out."

Dinobot nodded curtly. "It was important to you." And because Optimus wanted to be alone, Dinobot followed the Maximals inside.

Cheetor caught him as he exited the cargo bay. "You staying for breakfast, Dinobot?"

"I ..." Glowing lines of text flashed across his memory. Megatron would probably not return this night but Dinobot knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. "... might as well."

Rattrap appeared beside him as Cheetor bounded away. "Didn't work?" he asked.

Dinobot held no illusion that Rattrap hadn't guessed what was happening. "No. And I like that even less than you do, before you accuse me of anything."

Rattrap frowned. "Rhinox might have some ideas. I could try to talk to him in a roundabout way, don't have to mention you got troubles at all."

"No." While the engineer's help could be useful, Dinobot didn't want to involve more people in his problem than he had to. It was bad enough that Rattrap knew. Dinobot was surprised that Rattrap hadn't gossiped to Rhinox about the new lock already.

 

* * *

 

_I'm walking down a corridor. It's not my choice - there are two guards behind me, marching me along. I can hear their feet clanking against the deck plates. But I'm not a prisoner. I can't be - I haven't done anything wrong._

_The guards are for my protection._

_There's another sound, sort of a muffled droning noise that gets louder with each step. I want it to stop. I shouldn't be hearing it._

_There's a door at the end of the corridor. There's a sentry beside it._

_Something behind the door is screaming._

_The sentry is nervous; he keeps glancing back at the door. He says, "We need you to double-check your work. We need to be_ sure _."_

_He reaches for the door control and I want to tell him to stop but I can't speak. I want to run away but I can't move. He's going to make me look and I know that if I see the screamer, I'll die._

_I can't look. Don't make me look. I can't. If I do ..._

 

* * *

 

It was past the time that Optimus usually attempted to sleep, but the word was 'attempt'. He'd had trouble sleeping since the change, and if he was going to be awake he may as well be outside as in his room.

He was sitting on the ground by the pyre, his back to the control panel. They would dismantle and stow the device after the sun rose. For now the only light came from the _Axalon_ and a sliver of moon. Others had asked if he wanted company but he didn't, not right now.

"Relight the pyre."

The Maximal was pulled from his thoughts by the unexpected voice. He hadn't heard the cargo lift at all. "Inferno? You're up early. Megatron sending his regards?"

The Predacon warrior stood a few metres off, unarmed and holding a small box. "I was not sent."

Of course Inferno was capable of independent action - she'd demonstrated that when she destroyed the Standing Stones. Though she had done that for Megatron, even if Megatron hadn't given the order, so it was impossible to know her current motivations. Optimus cautiously got to his feet. "What do you need?"

"Relight the pyre," she repeated. "There is one more Maximal to be recycled."

Optimus shifted his weight, ready to fight or run. "Who?"

"Spinwit."

"... But that's you," said Optimus, aware of how strange it sounded.

She stepped up beside the pyre and glared at him. "No. I am Inferno."

Airazor and Cheetor had already tried to explain things to the warrior and were rebuffed. Inferno understood that she was a Maximal reprogrammed by the Predacons, she just didn't care. Optimus wondered if that was part of the Predacon programming, to feel no outrage at the violation. "You could be a Maximal again, if you want to."

She growled. "You ask me to sacrifice myself for a dead mechanism."

"No. You couldn't go back to that life. I wouldn't ask you to give up your identity." Optimus took a deep breath. "But you could be a Maximal as Inferno."

The anger in her was replaced by surprise. "You would ..." Then resolution: "I could not. To be Inferno is to serve the Colony."

It struck Optimus how surreal the conversation was. Two weeks ago he wouldn't have imagined he would ever be having a chat with the Predacon berserker, and certainly never _this_ chat. The truce kept Inferno's aggression in check, though Optimus had no doubt she would explode into fire and violence at Megatron's word. To be Inferno was to be what Megatron told Inferno to be. "Choice is possible. You're more than your programming."

That got a laugh, the full, wild laugh that Optimus had come to know and fear on the battlefield. He tensed but Inferno didn't attack. She clutched the box to her chest, laughing until the laughter choked off in a half-sob. She recovered herself quickly, to Optimus' relief - he wasn't certain how to comfort the warrior. Just patting her shoulder might lose him a hand.

Inferno straightened up, standing almost at attention, but still held the box against her chest. "You are no queen. Perhaps you were once, but I do not think so. Megatron was once and one day will be again. There is no choice. I am a soldier. I am a Predacon."

Optimus debated asking if she was all right but didn't know how far he could risk pushing it. He wasn't sure what to make of her 'no queen' remark except it had something to do with her belief that she was an ant. _But as long as she's in an introspective mood ..._ "Cheetor tells me you recognised Spinwit's luggage."

"It was not recognition, only a feeling. Something familiar but disconnected," said Inferno slowly. "As if Spinwit was someone I knew a long time ago and forgot, and now I'm told he is dead and has left his possessions to me. I recognise his things as mine but do not know what they are."

"Do you have any of his memories?" Optimus asked. "Maybe dreams that didn't make sense until now? Nightmares?"

The Predacon lowered the box to look at it. "No, none. What you tell me about him I know is true but I could not tell you myself."

"I never knew him personally but I can tell you a bit about who he was," said Optimus. "He was signed on as our chief science officer. One of his duties was to guide the stasis pods, to land them safely." _What you might have done if Tarantulas hadn't interfered._ "He was to defend the colony."

Inferno nodded. "Good." Optimus had briefly worried that he'd overstepped a boundary to borrow Inferno's terminology but she seemed to appreciate his use of it. She had no desire to return to her previous life but she could approve of who she used to be.

Optimus stepped around the control panel so he could access it. "What's in the box?"

"His journals. They seemed to be the most ... the most _him_ thing in the crate." Inferno stroked the lid of the box. "It was a mind that died so I will burn his thoughts."

Optimus bit back protest, that the writings of the famous xenopologist should be saved or at least copied, but it wasn't his decision to make. The journals belonged to Inferno. He activated a control and the pyre re-ignited. "If you ever change your mind, you have a place with us, Inferno."

"I have a place now." Inferno looked at the box one last time, then tossed it up into the pyre.

 

_To be continued ..._

 

**Author's Note:**

> There. Now 'Other Vengeance' is all caught up for now and I'll stop spamming up the front page and vanish until like 2022. ;)


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